


like father, like son

by timelessillusion



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Imprisonment, Iroh is Questionable, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Partially Blind Zuko (Avatar), Partially Deaf Zuko (Avatar), Suicidal Thoughts, The Boiling Rock Prison, Zuko (Avatar) Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessillusion/pseuds/timelessillusion
Summary: The man’s voice once again broke him from his thoughts; “In my dreams I see them tortured by Fire Nation soldiers. I see my entire culture wiped from the South, our footprint upon the ice shelves gone as though we never existed, our connection with the spirits and our ancestors forgotten.” He was silent for the briefest of moments, then, “You’re Fire Nation, aren’t you?”Zuko rolled onto his side, facing the wall, scar pressed into the arm that cushioned his head. “Once, maybe.”“Answer me this, then; when will this war see it's end?”Zuko, recalling the fire that had burned in Azula’s sunlit gaze the day she’d caught up to him, chose not to respond.
Relationships: Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 251
Kudos: 1112





	1. Chapter 1

Zuko was eleven years old when the Royal Palace received word of Lu Ten’s death. He could remember the morning clearly; he’d been playing hide and seek with Azula in the gardens, searching for her through the beds of fire lilies, her giggles giving her away somewhere ahead of him. As he pushed through a tight thicket of cherry trees, her laughter abruptly died. Concerned, Zuko emerged from the greenery with wide eyes, staring at his mother and Azula’s small form just in front of the turtle duck pond. Ursa, ever the picture of grace, had delivered the news in a low voice, a tattered piece of parchment clenched in her trembling hands.

It was only a few months later when his grandfather passed in his sleep and Uncle was declared unfit to rule, leaving only Ozai to take up the mantle of Fire Lord. The red dawn filled with the smoke of Azulon’s burning funeral pyre and the chanting of the Fire Sages. It was only one week later when Zuko found himself on the steps of the Fire Sages’ temple once again, an executioner stepping up behind Ursa’s kneeling form, a gleaming panabas in hand.

When he’d tried to turn away, his father’s fingers had dug into his shoulder in warning as he whispered, _You will watch your treasonous mother burn, Prince Zuko, and you will learn what happens to those who disappoint me. This is the mercy she deserves._ So Zuko had watched the scene unfurl, utterly numb, Azula just beside him, eyes glued to the form of their mother. Neither of them made a sound as her body fell to the ground, unmoving. Zuko closed his eyes when her corpse was set alight.

 _She killed grandfather,_ Azula whispered hours later, curled next to him in the vast expanse of his bed, small and tucked against his side. It had been years since she’d last snuck into his room but that night neither of them wanted to be alone. _She was a traitor._

Zuko hadn’t responded, hating the way their father had hooked his claws into her, how he’d never done anything to stop it, disgusted by the fear that curled up his chest and wrapped around his heart as he watched the still form of his sister next to him. He was a coward as well as a failure, he was beginning to realize, and there was no changing it. 

He was twelve when Uncle Iroh finally returned to the Caldera. Zuko hadn’t seen him since before the Siege of Ba Sing Se, when Lu Ten had still been alive and Uncle’s eyes hadn’t lost their spark. Zuko had convinced himself that he would be angry when Iroh returned but found as soon as he saw Uncle’s familiar warm smile his resolve crumbled. He ran across the stone courtyard, leaping into Uncle’s arms, not caring if it was unseemly or inappropriate, tears spilling freely down his cheeks as relief and happiness ripped quiet sobs from his chest.

Uncle stayed for nearly a year, a majority of his time spent in the gardens or disappearing into the city for days on end. He was different, which was to be expected, Zuko told himself. He’d seen the body of his only son hung from the walls of Ba Sing Se and had lost his birthright all in the same year. Still, it stung each time Uncle turned from him, not quite fast enough to hide the pain that flashed across his face when he sometimes looked at Zuko.

Zuko continued to study and train ruthlessly, though he made very little progress in his firebending lessons, seeing the burning form of his mother every time he threw fists of fire at wooden dummies or kicked flames in the faces of his instructors.

Instead, he found release in a dual pair of dao Uncle gifted him, the steel light and practically singing as he moved, extensions of his entire being. His lessons came to a halt after only a few months, his father backhanding Zuko hard enough to send him to the floor for daring to use a form of weaponry other than Agni’s gift. He returned to firebending, returned to seeing his mother’s blackened body every time he summoned his chi. 

Azula watched it all, his failures at firebending, the way their father spoke down to him, the way Uncle softened around him yet never had the same love for her. Without his notice, something in her hardened. Her forms were always perfect, her mind and reflexes sharp, her diligence the only thing that could draw a proud, private smile from their father’s unfeeling face. Though he didn’t want it to, resentment began to chip a hole in Zuko’s heart.

It was only a few weeks after Zuko’s thirteenth birthday when Uncle let him accompany him into Ozai’s war room, something Zuko had thought his father would be proud of. He thought if Ozai saw him taking initiative and actively engaging in battle plans he might see how much Zuko had improved, that he might be proud of how much he loved their country. He thought he might get one of those private smiles.

He was wrong, in more ways than one.

〜〜〜

Zuko awoke to the swaying of a ship and rolled just in time to vomit the contents of his stomach into a metal bucket, landing harshly on his hands and knees as he fell from what felt like a cot. He cried out as the jolting movement sent pain lancing across his face, his eye, his—

He scrambled from the floor to the cloudy mirror against the far wall, shaking fingers tearing at bandages he didn’t recognize, tears forming in his eyes as he pulled them from his face, nearly gagging on the scent of poultices and damaged flesh, growing more and more panicked as he pulled the dressings away, finally catching sight of—

He whirled away from the mirror, vomiting again into the bucket, his whole body trembling as he ran one hand up and over his freshly shorn head. His stomach churned as memories rushed back to him of the Agni Kai, of cool marble beneath his palms and knees, tears wet on his cheeks as he stared up in terror at his father. He didn’t remember anything past Ozai reaching out, one hand cupping the side of his face, a cruel mockery of tenderness, just before the worst pain Zuko had ever felt ripped a scream from his chest.

He was shaken from his memories as a heavy steel door opened and a Fire Nation soldier regarded him coldly. “Dress yourself, we reach port in half an hour.”

“Where...where are we going?” Zuko asked, mouth tasting foul, beginning to realize he’d lost all sight in his left eye.

The look in the man’s gaze was akin to pity. It made something in Zuko’s gut harden. “The Fire Lord decreed your banishment three days ago. General Iroh paid us a hefty sum to transport you to the Earth Kingdom.”

“My uncle—is he...where is he?”

The soldier’s face twisted with disgust. “General Iroh remains loyal to the Fire Nation. He was smart not to tarnish what little of his reputation remains.”

Zuko closed his eyes as the soldier left, a lump forming in his throat that he couldn’t force down. 

〜〜〜

He heard surprisingly little about himself in the Earth Kingdom. He wasn’t sure what he expected but it took only a few weeks of being on his own before he realized that no one knew what he looked like. At least, what he looked like after the Agni Kai.

There was gossip, of course, idle chatter about the disowned Fire Nation heir, musings about what the young man could’ve done that was so horrible even Fire Lord Ozai had enough of him.

“Perhaps he was a usurper,” he heard one evening in a small, nameless town on the outskirts of the colonies. He stilled where he was hunched over his bowl of broth, spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Like father, like son and all that.”

“What nonsense! I heard he tried to poison the princess.”

“As if that’s any more likely. I think he must’ve died in some sort of accident and the Fire Lord simply wishes not to air his dirty laundry for all us peasants to fawn over,” another voice added. “Perhaps the boy was too soft.” 

Zuko, appetite vanished, lifted the bowl to his lips and swallowed the remainder of his pitiful meal, knowing he would need the strength later even as his stomach cramped. He shoved back his stool and shouldered the bag he’d stolen from a merchant along the road, keeping his hood pulled low as he made his way out of town. He could feel gazes following him as he left and a small, paranoid part of himself thought they must know who he is, but the other part, the slightly more rational one, felt their utter disgust at the scarring that twisted over the left side of his face, and knew the true reason for their stares. 

Head lowered, Zuko pushed on, not entirely sure where he was heading.

〜〜〜

It didn’t take long for his money to run out and his stomach to tighten in hunger. He loathed himself for it but learned to find easy pickings, whether it be a poor family far from any sort of civilization or a lone merchant with a cart full of goods headed to Ba Sing Se.

He picked up a dagger somewhere along the way, preferring the heavy metal in his hand over fire, still unable to bend without seeing Ursa’s blackened corpse. His training returned easily to him, even though it had been meant for bigger blades, the first time he’d been cornered in a shadowy alley, his bloodied knife buried to the hilt in his attacker’s chest.

He saw more of the Earth Kingdom in a few weeks—or maybe a few months, he wasn’t entirely sure—than he ever saw as crown prince, finding himself in awe of towering trees with leaves of crimson, marshlands and swamps teeming with strange creatures he’d never seen before, even mountains full of valleys and rivers that rivaled those of the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom was beautiful and vast, he was learning, as well as deadly. It seemed every new village he came across sported soldiers either belonging to the Earth King or his father. He tried to avoid them all, but that meant straying far from any smooth roads or towns with markets ripe for picking.

He kept an eye on the wanted boards, certain that one day he would look up and find his own face staring back at him. He avoided the colonies, afraid someone might recognize his golden eye or the hand-shaped burn scar that he’d never be free of.

He walked and walked, utterly alone, wondering what became of Azula, of Uncle, of the servants who had helped raise him. He was certain if Uncle had been killed he would’ve heard about it; the Dragon of the West had many enemies, and plenty of people within the Earth Kingdom would’ve toasted to his demise.

He didn’t ask himself why Uncle stayed in the Fire Nation. He knew from months of pained smiles and stilted conversation what Uncle thought of him.

He caught sleep where he could find it, in caves and tree boughs, once in a barn during a particularly awful storm, curled amongst the sleeping moo-sows.

In his dreams, he saw his mother, standing silent in the back of his memories, her face terrible and sad. He saw Lu Ten, his broken body swinging from the walls of the Impenetrable City. He saw Uncle, turning from him, sending him away, responsible for the pain and loneliness Zuko had found in the Earth Kingdom. He saw the man he’d murdered, felt the weight of his body go slack before he’d collapsed, blood on his lips, eyes sightless. Most often, he saw Azula. Sometimes she chased him, her blue flames licking at his flesh, her smile so much like their father’s it turned his stomach. Other times, he saw her at Ozai’s mercy with scars that matched his own, heard her laughter change pitch into screams of agony, and all he could do was listen.

On the nights his dreams proved too much, he packed his meager belongings and continued walking.

〜〜〜

He was still thirteen when he ran into the Rough Rhinos.

The town was aflame, smoke and ash billowing into the sky, nearly blocking out the sun entirely. People were screaming all around as their homes burned and the Rhinos wreaked havoc. Zuko had heard of them but he’d only ever considered them with a passing sort of unease. The sort of not-quite fear that was for scary stories he didn’t quite believe and savagery he’d never seen firsthand.

It was different seeing their cruelty in the flesh. 

Zuko pulled a small child out from beneath a burning pile of timber, the girl’s wails sending his bad ear ringing painfully. He shoved her into a woman’s arms, whirling as a komodo rhino went charging passed, its rider laughing as people scattered, stopping only meters away from where Zuko stood, shaking.

The rider paused, a triple chained bolas hung at his side and a slow smile spreading across his soot-smeared face as he appraised Zuko wordlessly. Glancing around, Zuko’s heart nearly stopped when he saw a twin pair of dao on the form of a fallen Earth Kingdom soldier. He scrambled to pick them up, palms so slick with sweat he nearly dropped them. 

The man laughed, hefting his bloody, weighted chains. “Do you even know what you’re doing with those, boy?”

The lessons he’d received in childhood weren’t quite lost on him but the fear took over and Zuko turned, afraid that if he risked glancing back he’d find the man had given pursuit. All around him, the village burned, the ramshackle wooden houses catching fire as easily as tinder. The horribly familiar smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged as he continued to stumble from the town. He ignored the screams of those trapped within their homes, running and running and running until his legs all but gave out beneath him. 

He collapsed next to a stream, breath pulled from his lungs in painful gasps. He dropped the dao, feeling sick at the sight of them, hating himself for running, for being relieved he’d made it out alive when so many hadn't.

Laying on his back beside the stream, tears and smoke in his eyes, Zuko wished he’d received the same mercy as his mother.

〜〜〜

Time was escaping him. He no longer knew how long he’d traveled, only that his hair had reached his shoulders and his sight had slightly improved in his left eye. It wasn’t much, only a bit of light through the usual darkness, but it gave him hope.

He was in yet another small, insignificant town outside of Gaipan when he found himself in the middle of a Fire Nation camp. He’d seen their fire and his stomach had rumbled at the smell of roasting meat, thinking he’d found a few travelers he could easily overpower and steal from.

He’d been sorely mistaken, and captured moments before he’d realized his mistake.

Sitting with his hands and feet bound, Zuko stared a hole into the earth beside the fire, ignoring the men that moved around him. His pulse was in his ears, loud and drowning out nearly everything else. His dao were gone, taken the moment he’d been discovered, and so was the dagger he’d stolen so many months ago. The horrible, irrational part of himself thought they might recognize him and return him to the Fire Nation. He knew if they saw his good eye there would be no denying his royal blood.

“How’d you get that scar, boy?” One soldier asked, words slightly slurred from too much sake.

Zuko remained silent, panic stealing all rational thought. He couldn’t go back to the Palace, his father would surely kill him if he set foot within the Fire Nation—

“I said—” the soldier’s boot collided with his jaw, knocking Zuko flat and causing him to bite through his own tongue. He grunted in pain, blood filling his mouth, doing his damndest to keep his face away from the light of the fire even as the soldier stood over him, growing emboldened. “How’d you get that scar?”

Even though he was terrified, fury rose in the depths of his chest and before he had thought better of it, he spit, narrowly missing the soldier’s shoe. “Fuck you.”

The man’s nostrils flared as he delivered another swift kick, this time to Zuko’s ribs. He gasped, determined not to show how badly the pain was affecting him. The soldier knelt, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him upright. Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to groan as the man snarled in his bad ear, “You’re lucky we don’t deliver you to one of the mining camps, boy. They’d work you until you’d collapse and let your body rot so far down below the earth only the worms would miss you.”

Zuko shuddered, bracing himself for a blow that never fell. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the soldier fall, an arrow protruding from his throat. Immediately, the camp erupted into chaos, Fire Nation soldiers getting into defensive stances as small, darkly clad figures darted from the trees in a quick, silent onslaught. More arrows flew through the air, felling unsuspecting soldiers, and Zuko dragged himself to the body of the soldier who’d kicked him, feeling the corpse for a blade. He found a knife and quickly cut through his bindings before shoving himself to his feet and running for the wagon that housed his stolen dao.

The dark figures were quick, dropping men like flies, and before he knew it, the fight was over. Zuko stood panting next to the fire, his ribs aching, staring around at the carnage in confusion as one of the attackers announced loudly, “Great work, everyone. We’ve secured another victory against the Fire Nation tonight. Find what you can, take care of the wounded, and make sure there are no survivors.”

Zuko’s stomach went cold as the boy turned to him. He didn’t look much older than Zuko himself but the way his voice rang out with authority reminded him painstakingly of the generals and battle-hardened men he’d grown up with. This boy was a warrior, and he’d just taken out a dozen of Zuko’s brethren. 

The boy wielded a set of hooked swords, which remained poised in his hands as the pair regarded each other. “Jet,” the boy said simply, looking Zuko over in a slow, deliberate way that had the hair on the back of Zuko’s neck standing up.

He straightened, staring the other boy in the eye, sure he was facing some kind of test. He ground out, voice rough from disuse, “Lee.”

There was a slight edge to Jet’s voice as he commented, “I didn’t think the Fire Nation recruited so young.”

Zuko fixed him with a hard glare. “I’m not one of them.” _Not entirely a lie,_ he thought, glancing at the bodies of the Fire Nation soldiers all around them, _but certainly safer._

Jet raised a wild eyebrow. “You any good with those?” He jerked his chin to the dao on Zuko’s back. 

Zuko tilted his head. “Good enough.” 

“Interesting scar you got there, Lee,” Jet said, mouth set in a crooked smile. Behind him, a large boy slid his knife between the ribs of a pleading Fire Nation soldier, holding it there until the man stilled. “From a firebender, I’d wager.”

Zuko said nothing.

Jet’s face softened a bit. “Everyone here…” he gestured vaguely with his swords but Zuko surmised what he meant. “We know what it’s like. To have been hurt by the Fire Nation. You could join us, if you want.”

Glancing at the carnage just over Jet’s shoulder, at the bodies littering the forest floor and the children picking amongst the corpses like buzzard-wasps, Zuko swallowed. He’d been on his own for Agni only knew how long, but would joining a group of rebels really be any better? Especially ones that seemed to favor his countrymen?

But looking at Jet, hearing the laughter and easy talk that arose from the children behind him, Zuko decided he’d had enough of being alone.

〜〜〜

The Freedom Fighters, or so they called themselves, weren’t hard to fall in with. Only a few of them were older than Jet, who Zuko discovered was the same age as him after they’d told him the year. Somewhere, amongst the running and the blood and the countless sleepless nights, Zuko had turned fourteen.

Zuko had stared in amazement the first time he’d seen the treetop houses where the Freedom Fighters took up camp. “You built all of this?” he’d asked breathlessly. 

Jet regarded him from the corner of his eye. “With help.”

Jet wasn’t exactly kind but he was a good leader and an easy companion. He didn’t push conversation when Zuko grew uncomfortable and never once did he ask why Zuko was by himself, or why he’d been captured by Fire Nation soldiers. He also didn’t seem to even suspect Zuko's true identity, which was an immense relief.

His first night with the rebels, Zuko had been lying awake, staring up at the rickety wooden roof of the hut Jet had given him, when screams had him bolting upright. He was on his feet immediately, bursting onto the wooden catwalk outside, dao drawn, finding a few of the other boys sticking their heads out blearily from their own huts. The initial screaming had died into loud, breathless sobs coming from somewhere on Zuko’s left.

He nearly stepped forward to investigate when Jet slid down a rope from a platform above, grunting, “Back to sleep everyone. It’s only Mino.”

He pushed into the hut the cries were drifting from, and all around him, the other boys withdrew. Utterly bewildered, Zuko retreated to his bed, dao propped against the wall, eyes eventually drifting shut to the sound of Jet’s voice consoling the young boy.

Zuko had been with the rebels for about a week when Jet first asked him to spar. He'd been hesitant before he’d begrudgingly agreed, shouldering his dao and gliding down the rope pulleys to the forest floor.

Jet didn’t ask how much he could handle or what he was okay with—he simply came at Zuko with a surprising amount of ferocity that instantly had him throwing up his blades. They fought viciously, a relief and welcome outlet for them both, the clang of steel on steel ringing through the dense forest and clearing something from Zuko’s soul.

They only stopped when they were both too out of breath to continue, with Jet holding up a hand and panting out, “Okay, okay. I yield.” He dropped to the leaf-covered ground, laying flat on his back, chest rising and falling as he panted, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Zuko slowly joined him, his muscles singing and sweat plastering his hair to his face. “I had...an instructor when I was younger.” Again, not really a lie.

Jet threw a handful of leaves at him half-heartedly, a crooked grin alighting his flushed face. “Rich kid, huh?”

Zuko shoved his arm, heat rising to his cheeks that he blamed on the stagnant air. “Shut up. You?”

“I taught myself.”

Zuko closed his eyes, not wanting to think about a much younger Jet learning what kind of world they lived in. He was content to let the conversation drop but Jet spoke without prompt, his voice somber as he admitted, “Fire Nation attacked my village when I was eight. They killed my parents and everyone else who didn’t escape, even dragged a girl I’d known my entire life into the street and…” He took a shuddering breath and Zuko’s chest ached for him. “They killed her too when they were done with her. I’d never felt so fucking powerless.” He turned his head and their eyes met. “She wasn’t much older than me, Lee.”

“I’m sorry, Jet.”

Jet swallowed thickly, turning to stare up at the canopy again, long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. “I can’t let that happen to any of my kids, Lee. Because they...they’re my family now, and none of them deserve what they’ve been through. And as long as I’m able to fight the Fire Nation and do my part in ending this war, I’m going to.”

Zuko wanted to tell him he was still a kid himself but knew the words would be lost. Instead, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and pushed himself to his feet, guilt gnawing at his insides as they made the trek back to camp, thoughts consumed with flames and destruction, of soldiers occupying lands that were not their own, all on his father’s orders. He didn’t sleep that night.

〜〜〜

Winter came early to their corner of the world, with frost covering the ground each morning, ice cracking on the rope pulleys, and stealing the warmth from Zuko’s fingertips. It wasn’t his first winter outside of the Royal Palace but that didn’t mean he’d grown accustomed to it. 

Pipsqueak clambered up the stairs to Jet’s hut one chilly morning, throwing the curtain back. “Fire Nation headed this way. What’s the plan?”

Both Zuko and Jet looked up from the supplies list they’d been drafting. Jet grinned, dirty and crooked.

It was supposed to be simple; they would drop from the trees in maneuvers they’d run a hundred times. Longshot would take out the soldiers at the back of the caravan from a distance, Pipsqueak creating a distraction in the front, as Jet, Zuko, and three other boys attacked from the sides. It was a good plan, one that had worked a dozen times before. They just hadn’t accounted for one of the wagons to be filled with soldiers instead of goods. 

Flames came blasting through the tarps, a wave of armored men spilling out of the back of the wagon, their fists met with arrows. Zuko launched himself from the bushes, swinging his dao and relishing the complete rush that came with battle. He didn’t have time to feel guilty as his blades carved a bloody path through the men that stood between him and a full belly. They were foot soldiers who served a man they’d likely never meet, pieces in the pai sho game Zuko’s family had been playing for nearly a century. They were nameless and their katas were stances Zuko knew well, their footwork predictable and familiar. 

“Lee!”

Zuko whirled, searching for Jet amongst the smoke and uproar.

He found the other boy's hardened figure, saw him point with one sword towards the direction the soldiers had been coming from. Zuko took off, dodging plumes of flame as he gave chase.

The escaped soldier didn’t make it far; Zuko flung his dagger through the air and it caught the man in the shoulder, sending him to the ground. He rolled, narrowly missing Zuko’s blades, blood staining the earth black. His steeled boot kicked dirt and fire in a blazing arch and Zuko shouted as it singed his forearms, the force of the blast knocking his swords from his hands. The soldier was back on his feet in an instant, fists coming together and Zuko threw his arms up reflexively. The flames the soldier hurled at him split down the middle but Zuko still wasn’t quick enough to block the next blast. He reeled backward as the man punched fire straight into his face—suddenly, he was half a world away, a large hand blocking his vision, pain the only thing he knew—

Zuko cried out, blindly thrusting one open palm forward, sending a blast right back at the soldier, who had only a hair's breadth of a second to look stunned before the flames hit him square in the chest, once again knocking him to the ground. Panting, Zuko cast about for his dao, shaking with adrenaline and fear, feeling as though he would be sick.

He plucked his dao from the dirt, hands trembling so badly he could hardly keep his grip on them. When he straightened, ice settled in his gut.

Jet, hooked swords hanging at his sides, stared with an open mouth at the fallen Fire Nation soldier behind him.

“Jet, I—”

“Get out of here, Lee,” Jet whispered, gaze snapping up to Zuko’s, dangerous and unfamiliar. “And don’t ever come back.”

“Let me explain—”

“I said get out of here!” Jet shouted. Zuko stumbled back, heart in his throat and eyes stinging. The other boy spat, “I’ll let you go just this once but if I _ever_ see your face again, I can’t promise I won’t kill you.”

Breath snatched from his chest, Zuko stared at him for a moment longer, seeing his father in the curled snarl on Jet’s face. Willing away his tears, Zuko nodded mutely, strapping his dao to his back. 

He didn’t return to camp before he left, unable to face the many questions he knew the other boys would have.

Alone again for the first time in months, Zuko bent his head and kept going.

〜〜〜

Hours later, after both boys were long gone, half his life bled away into the dirt, the fallen soldier summoned the last of his strength and opened his eyes.

〜〜〜

Zuko had stopped in a dusty town in the middle of the Si Wong Desert when he saw the first wanted sign.

His gaze slipped across the yellowed parchment at first, thinking nothing of the poster that stared down at him, before his heart had dropped somewhere between his feet and the waterskin he’d been filling fell from his numb fingertips.

Unthinkingly, his fingers came up to trace his scar, flitting around his eye, his cheekbone, the ruined shell of his ear; _Agni above, is that really what I look like?_ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his own reflection.

Sickened, Zuko snatched the poster from the wall, hands shaking as he capped his waterskin. 

He stole an ostrich horse and ran, thinking of nothing but what might be following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at writing for ATLA so please be kind! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief suicidal ideation and the usual violence

The fight was over before it even began, really.

Lit orange by the setting sun, the dust-filled air was hard to see through, drawing tears from Zuko’s eyes as the wind whipped around him. He had managed to stumble a few yards into a thick expanse of twisted, dead trees that might’ve once been an oasis before his strength fled him. The spindle-fingered branches of the dead forest cut through the weak sunlight, casting long, jumbled shadows across the sand. It was fitting, Zuko thought, that a place so desolate and forgotten would be where he finally met his end. 

He closed his eyes, a mix of fury and fear forming a lump in his throat. _Will Azula even take my body back to the Caldera? Or will she leave me here for the desert scavengers?_ Exhaustion threatened to swallow him but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain upright, even as his legs shook with the effort. He didn’t trust that if he were to sit down he could bring himself to his feet again.

The sound of modified tundra tanks reached him once more, loud enough he could hear it even in his bad ear, this time joined by the snapping groans of the dead forest as they plowed their way closer. He straightened, dagger in hand, knowing he was out of options. His ostrich horse laid alone a few miles back, it’s body soon to be consumed by the desert, just another skeleton to be buried. Turning the blade over in his hands, Zuko’s gaze flitted to the collection of veins at his wrist, thinking not for the first time that if he were braver he might spare himself from whatever punishment awaited him in the Fire Nation. Slamming his head back against the hollow tree with an angry shout, he took a series of slow, measured breaths, torn.

He was suddenly thrown forward as the trees behind him exploded, wood flying everywhere and kicking up even more sand as the tundra tanks knocked them flat. Zuko rolled out of the way, heart rate spiking, narrowly avoiding being crushed by wheels that were twice the width of his torso. He scrambled to his feet, sand and splinters in his mouth, a newfound burst of energy forcing him onward as there came a distinct metal clang behind him, followed by shouting.

The dry air popped and crackled, lifting the hair on his arms, a moment before the lightning Azula conjured pierced him in the back. He went down, ears ringing and barely even able to draw breath in order to scream, curled tightly in on himself as his body spasmed uncontrollably. 

A foot pushed him onto his back and Azula’s laughter drifted down from somewhere above; “Oh, Zuzu, you _really_ don’t look so good.”

He forced his eyes open, nose filled with the scent of burnt hair and ozone.

Azula crouched, bringing her face close to his. Behind her, a dozen Imperial Firebenders waited, their stances broad and fists lifted. Up close, Zuko could see that his sister’s face had lost a bit of its childhood roundness, though her cheeks were still full and flushed from the heat. She looked healthy, her skin smooth and in no way mirroring his own, as he’d so often dreamt. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or cry. 

“Father is rather displeased with you, Zuzu,” she murmured, and he flinched as she brought a hand up to his face. Her manicured nails grazed his cheek, flitted around his sightless eye, traced over his ruined ear, and followed the scar to where it disappeared into his hair. He glared at her as she took him in, part of him wondering if this was the first time she’d seen their father’s handiwork. She withdrew, voice oddly tight as she said, “His suspicions about you being alive turned out to be true—we received reports of a firebender with a unique scar targeting our troops in the Earth Kingdom. He wanted to come after you himself but I insisted I should be the one to bring you home.” She dropped her voice, low enough for only him to hear, “You should’ve been more careful, dum-dum.”

Zuko dared to reach towards her, grinding out, “Zula…”

He might have imagined it but something like remorse flashed across her face, though it was gone in the blink of an eye. She stood before he could touch her. “You really leave me no choice, brother. Father will be angry but…” She snapped her fingers at the Imperial Firebenders, hands on her hips as they moved forward to lift him from the sand. “When isn’t he?”

〜〜〜

“You’re certain?”

“It says it right here, plain as Agni’s light. You want to go against a direct order?”

“We were _given_ direct orders, this isn’t—”

“And now we’re being given a new one. The Royal Family can sort their shit out when the Princess arrives back at the capital. For now, we carry out her demand, understand?”

Zuko, curled against the wall of the cell he’d been unceremoniously dumped into, opened his eyes just enough to take in the two Imperial Firebenders meant to be watching him. The ship they were on lurched and he groaned, back aching where his sister had shot him full of lightning. 

Feeling ill, he squeezed his eyes shut, stomach in knots from more than just seasickness.

〜〜〜

When he realized where he was being delivered, Zuko wished all the more that he had killed himself.

The walls of the Boiling Rock rose from the surrounding mountains like a cavernous, steaming mouth. The dormant volcano was half the size of the ones on the main island but that didn’t mean much. Zuko halted where he stood on the airship landing, heart in his throat and legs nearly giving out beneath him as he watched the haze rise up, up, up, so high it was impossible to identify where the steam ended and the clouds began. He distantly heard one of his guards curse, then he was being shoved forward.

The Imperial Firebenders escorted him as far as the receiving platform for the gondolas that crossed over the boiling lake, the wide metal elevator that took them steadily upward rising with an anxiety-inducing sort of slowness. The air grew steadily hotter the further up the mountainside they rose, cloying humidity stealing all energy from Zuko’s tired body, so thin and damp it felt as though it clogged his lungs. At the lip of the prison, the Firebenders who had pledged their lives to his family handed a rolled parchment to the waiting guards, deep crimson flashing briefly as the scroll passed from hand to hand; the Fire Nation Royal Crest. Zuko remained mute through the whole ordeal, shuffling forward when prompted in small, humiliated steps. His wrists and ankles were weighed with heavy shackles, both secured to a chain around his waist that prevented any extended movement.

His new guards marched him through too many halls and down too many stairs for Zuko to keep track of where they were—all he knew was that it grew impossibly hotter the further they descended. Prisoners dressed in red shuffled passed, escorted by officers bearing kanabos. Their conversation was lost on Zuko, who felt numb as he was ushered down more flights of stairs. His guards eventually stopped in an empty white-tiled room, the ceiling lined with pipes and the humidity nearly insufferable. Numerous smaller pipes branched from the ones along the center ceiling, running down the walls to faucet heads secured to the tiled walls. There were no stalls, no semblance of privacy. Heart hammering, Zuko stared at what he assumed was the prison showers as one guard unfastened his shackles from the metal belt. “Undress yourself.”

Zuko blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Zuko glanced between the two men, then the empty, tiled room. “And if I don’t?”

One guard shook out his arm, a long trailing whip of fire flaring from his grip. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, kid. You reek.”

Zuko couldn’t help but curl his lip. Mind made up, he stepped into a defensive kata, choking down bile as a brief image of his mother flashed in his mind; the fire whip cracked towards him before he could even attempt to firebend, catching him around the ankle. In a heartbeat, his leg was wrenched out from under him, a shout escaping him as his head cracked against the tiled floor. 

Shaking off the jarring burst of pain, Zuko bared his teeth and launched himself at the closest guard’s leg, pulling him to the ground and bringing his heavy shackles down on the man’s head, ignoring his screams, far too panicked to even care. The other guard cursed and Zuko was distantly aware of him shouting, could feel the flaming whip leaving searing scores down his back and shoulders, but he’d been fighting for too long; he knew pain, knew how to fight through it, and he was not about to let himself be seen so weakened—

He shouted as two new guards burst into the room, one tackling him bodily. Thrashing in the woman’s grip, he tried in vain to buck her off, legs pinned by the weight of the other guard who’d come to help.

In the end, they had to cut off the rags he’d been wearing for the better part of a year, securing his shackles to the wall as they turned on the faucets, releasing a torrent of scalding water that left his skin red and angry. Blood and dirt swirled down the shower drain, darkening the tile. The flood was so hot it quickly grew uncomfortable, steam filling the room as Zuko continued to struggle in his chains, nearly biting through his own lip to avoid crying out as the wound from Azula and whip scorches stung under the onslaught. The guard who’d gifted them to him stood at the ready, a look of complete hatred in his dark gaze making Zuko wish he’d lash out—he was on his feet this time, even if his hands were useless.

He thought someone dressed him but he couldn’t have been sure. The pain at the back of his skull was growing steadily worse, and he could feel himself starting to lose consciousness. The guards hauled him from the showers, carrying him to an elevator ( _finally no more fucking stairs,_ he had enough energy to think) that took them even further down. At some point, he became certain they passed underground. A part of him went cold, and he would only realize later it was his chi, struggling to rekindle in Agni’s absence.

His body met hard stone and it was all he could do to drag himself to the corner of his new cell. Even though pain flared up his spine as the contact, he kept his back tucked in the juncture of two falls, facing the direction he thought the door was in, unable to see in the complete and stifling dark.

All too soon, the pain won out and there was only blackness.

〜〜〜

Sickness quickly overtook him in the dark.

There was no lamp in his cell, not even in the hallway beyond. Every once in a while, if his good ear happened to be facing the door, he thought he might’ve heard footsteps or the conversation of passing guards, but he quickly came to realize how little he could trust his own fever-ridden mind.

 _Look at you,_ a voice sneered, and Zuko felt cold sweat roll down his neck, convinced that if he were to open his eyes, his father would be standing in front of him. _Pathetic._

 _He’s not here,_ Zuko told himself. _He’s not here,_ **_he’s not here._ **

_Quiet, Zuzu,_ Azula crooned, somewhere unseen. _You don’t want to end up like Mother._

Zuko swallowed, a flood of mixed emotions rising in his chest at the thought of his sister. _Why here?_ he asked, not entirely certain he didn’t say it aloud. _You should’ve killed me._

_This is the mercy you deserve, Zuzu._

He slept more in that cell than he had since his banishment, fever stealing time from him yet again. The darkness didn’t help, for it was a constant, never-ending presence. He shook on the damp, hot floor, the cell’s humidity and his rising temperature dampening his clothes with sweat. 

He rolled over, unsure if when he next opened his eyes, he would truly be awake or simply dreaming.

〜〜〜

The guards returned for him not long after his fever broke and the voices quieted.

Zuko awoke once again to the pitch black, stomach growling, footsteps this time he was certain weren’t simply a figment of his imagination rapidly approaching. Sure enough, there came the sound of a lock turning, and then the cell door was opening. Four guards had come to retrieve him—they hauled him upright, so tall his feet dragged along the ground as they opted to carry him back to the elevator that would take them to the surface.

Zuko had no idea where in the prison he ended up, having no sense of where anything was located. He was not immediately taken to rot in another cell; the officers pushed through a set of heavy doors into a long, sterile smelling room with row after row of beds. Many of the beds were empty, though several housed both men and women in varying states of well-being. His guards deposited him onto a flat, springy mattress in a generally secluded area of the infirmary. 

“If I ask you to remove your shirt, are you going to try and bash my head in too? Or have you figured out how things work around here?” A black-haired woman emerged from behind a curtained-off section nearby, a large satchel in her hand. She deposited it on the table at the end of the bed, unrolling worn leather to reveal a mix of vials, jars, and bandages. She faced Zuko, one hand on her hip. “Do as you’re told and things will be a lot less unpleasant for you, I promise.”

Zuko shot her a glare, then thought better of it, staring instead at the floor as he peeled his sweaty, blood-stained shirt off, trying not to wince as it stuck to the wounds on his back. The woman made a displeased sound as she stepped behind him, cold fingers prodding at the back of his skull, at every place the fire whip had struck him. 

“Agni above,” she exhaled, sounding slightly taken aback, and Zuko stiffened as her hands got a little too close to where Azula’s lightning had struck him. “I know no one here did _that_.”

“That would’ve been the Crown Princess,” a new voice added, and Zuko noted the way his escort guards immediately seemed to straighten, and how the woman’s hands went still against his shoulder blades. “An entirely necessary use of force for our banished prince, if I understand the terms of your arrest properly.”

Zuko had to turn his head to get a good look at the man standing at the end of his bed. He wasn’t all that intimidating, physically, but the way he held himself bespoke years of formal military training, and there was something cruel in the set of his mouth. He slid his gaze away, deciding the floor would be a safer thing to stare at.

“You see, Prince Zuko,” the man moved until he stood right in front of him and Zuko had no choice but to look up. “Our rules are simple; complete the tasks assigned to you, do your time without causing us any problems, and you might just find that we can be quite hospitable.” He smirked and Zuko clenched his fists where they rested atop his knees as the man’s gaze flicked to the scorch marks that licked up his shoulders. “We don’t take kindly to upstarts here, as you seem to have already discovered.”

The woman tending to his back continued working briskly. He could’ve imagined it but Zuko thought he might’ve felt a slight tremor in her touch.

“No one gets special treatment in my prison, so don’t expect your accommodations to be up to par with what you received at the Capital.” Zuko nearly laughed. He was probably safer within the walls of the Boiling Rock than he ever had been at the Royal Palace. The man must’ve seen the twitch of his lips, for his mouth turned down into an ugly frown. He stared at Zuko a moment longer, gaze lingering a little too long to be comfortable, before he nodded to the guards that had brought him in, each of whom formed a flame symbol with their hands, as the man said, “As you were, gentlemen. Kyo.”

The woman dipped her head respectfully and silence fell over the infirmary as the man walked away. As she applied some sort of sticky poultice to his new burns, Kyo said under her voice, “Warden Akumo is not a man you want to get on the bad side of.”

Zuko didn’t acknowledge her. 

After Kyo had dressed all of his wounds, the guards wordlessly escorted Zuko through the prison to a new cell, this time fully lit and far above the ground. A metal shelf roughly big enough for a body to stretch out upon were on both sides of the cell and nothing else.

“Dinner is in an hour,” one of the guards told him through the slit in the door. “You’ll get work assignments in the morning.”

Alone in his new cell, Zuko traced the bandages that curled over his shoulder, the skin beneath them still sore to the touch. Sitting on the very edge of the slab that was meant to be his bed, he dug his fingers into the burns, tears welling in his eyes, the pain at very least familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short update but I'm hoping to have more time soon since the semester is ending in about a week. Thank you to everyone who left such kind comments on the first chapter, they really mean the world <3 This is 100% un-beta'd so mistakes are on me!
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the long wait! Thank you all for your patience and continued support <3 To make up for it I've got a bit of a longer chapter :)
> 
> I feel like I should mention (and honestly it may not even matter) that I somehow added the ‘eventual smut’ tag when posting the second chapter, and it was up for about two days before I realized. I don’t know how many people may have clicked on this because of that but just know that was def a mistake since I don’t plan on that for this fic. Firstly, because many of the characters are underage, and secondly, I just don’t see it being appropriate or realistic given some of the character’s mentalities/things they have been through. So yeah, just thought I’d put that out there in case anyone was waiting for that!
> 
> TW for the usual violence and very brief, non graphic attempted sexual assault

The morning horn blast woke Zuko from a deep, dreamless sleep. He blinked into awareness, feeling no more refreshed than when he’d laid down the night before. Biting back a groan, he slung his legs over the edge of his bed, muscles tight and back already aching. His cellmate, a gruff older man named Ichiro cursed, one arm over his face as he stole a few more moments off his feet. Their work assignments had them both in the boiler rooms for the better part of the morning, then the second story block in the afternoon; there’d likely be no reprieve until sundown. 

Zuko stood just as their door slid open, rubbing sleep from his eyes and moving stiffly towards the hallway beyond, he and the other men from his cell block were ushered forward with muttered grumblings and stifled curses—the guards were rarely lenient and even less so in the mornings when Agni’s rays had yet to even breach the surrounding caldera’s walls. Their fists struck hard but their kanabos struck harder, and it was not something Zuko wanted to be on the receiving end of when the day had hardly begun. The prison halls quickly filled with the clamor of heavy boots on metal, officers giving orders, the sounds of a hundred men being driven downward like animals through a chute.

They marched in lines two men wide down, down, down, the movement chasing a bit of the stiffness from Zuko’s legs. He was careful to keep his head lowered and eyes on the ground in front of him. While the guards tended to be the most vengeful, his fellow inmates were just as likely to pick a fight. Beside him, Ichiro shared no such reservations. He glared at a nearby female officer with open hatred. “What bullshit do you think the Warden will have for us today?”

Han, the man in front of Zuko, an Earth Kingdom general who’d only arrived at their cell division a few months prior, chuckled humorlessly. Zuko tried to look in the opposite direction as subtly as he could; Han’s empty left eye socket was a little too unsettling, a little too familiar. “More propaganda, I’d wager. Not like he shares any _real_ news.”

“Doubt we even get breakfast for our troubles,” Han’s cellmate Guang spit, narrowly missing an officer’s boot. Zuko ducked his head instinctively, releasing his breath only after they’d passed the guard without anything more than a glare. At the mention of food, Zuko’s stomach grumbled, and he clutched his belly in discomfort. For all of the Boiling Rock’s monotony, food had rarely been a question when he’d first arrived. Only in the last few months had they seen smaller portions at mealtimes, and in the last few weeks, they had begun to go from rites directly into their work assignments. 

His thoughts were torn away from self-pity as they finally emerged into the vast stone courtyard where they received morning rites each day. The female prisoners were already gathered on the opposite side of the courtyard, their numbers half that of the men. All of the prisoners were organized into long, neat rows, facing the east, where Agni’s rays were only just beginning to break over the volcano’s rocky lip. They were so deep within the craterous pit that Zuko had to tilt his head almost all the way back in order to see the top ring of the caldera, but the broad circular expanse of sky was too thick with steam to fully appreciate the time in the sun. Regardless, Zuko closed his eyes as the Warden recited the morning rites, his deep, grating voice ringing with authority over the prison yard. If he concentrated hard enough, Zuko could almost ignore the man’s droning, nearly fooling himself into thinking he was on a riverbank somewhere, the sun bearing down on him warmly, the humidity soothing instead of stagnant. He imagined the heat seeping into him, rekindling his chi and chasing the chill from his bones, almost managing to drive away—

An elbow to his ribs broke him from his thoughts and Zuko shot a murderous look at Ichiro. The older man cut his gaze towards the guards that were only a few paces away. Zuko’s stomach sunk and he straightened, training his gaze on the Warden and resolving to keep it there. Isao, the officer who favored fire whips and harbored a strong, personal dislike for Zuko was watching him intently, his gaze searing into the side of his head. He clenched his fists, anger stirring in his chest, hotter than any imagined warmth from Agni’s light. Isao had added more than a few scars to Zuko’s back since his arrest, and Zuko longed to return the favor.

Finished, the Warden dismissed them all without any sort of announcements; that was another thing Zuko had noticed. Whereas the morning rites had almost always been accompanied by news of advancements in the war, big or small, more often than not in the last few months they were dismissed to their duties without further delay.

He might’ve taken it as a sign that things weren’t going well for the Fire Nation outside the prison’s walls but Zuko had long stopped caring about the world’s affairs. The world hadn’t exactly done much for him, had it?

The officers and guards assigned to his cellblock gave a few sharp commands and groans rose from the men around him. Again, there’d be no meal until noon, and that was if they were lucky. Zuko glanced at Ichiro, finding his own mutinous thoughts reflected back at him in the man’s scowl. A lot of his cellmate’s previous life was a mystery to him, but they shared at least a few sentiments.

“Fucking typical,” Han grunted under his breath, thick arms bulging as he clenched his fists. 

Isao’s head snapped towards them, dark eyes narrowed. “Something you wanted to say, Han?”

Han only grunted, fists still clenched at his sides. Zuko’s fingers itched, wishing he could knock the arrogant grin off the officer’s face. Orders were shouted and the inmates shuffled into their respective workgroups; Ichiro and Zuko joined the rest of the firebenders from their cell division, Han and Guang disappearing within the throng of nonbenders. 

Isao stood at the head of their line, looking rather bored. “Boiler room today, gents. You know the drill.”

They did, in fact, know the drill. They followed Isao’s imposing form, a dozen other officers of various ranks scattered around them, conversation dull as they traversed back inside to the elevators that would take them below ground. Zuko shivered as they passed under the earth’s surface, certain he wasn’t the only one feeling Agni’s loss. Despite the sudden chill between his ribs, the air within the small metal box steadily grew warmer the further they descended. Zuko liked to think he had grown accustomed to the uncomfortable heat of the prison over the years but stepping into the boiler room was always a horrid surprise, something he found you could only prepare yourself so much for.

A blast of hot air met them as the doors opened, draining and instantly drawing sweat along Zuko’s hairline. The men shuffled out, going to their assigned stations, taking over for the inmates who worked the room throughout the night. Zuko begrudgingly moved towards the far end of the boiler room, where the furnace that powered water pumps for the entire prison required constant care. He could feel the heat from the pipes even a meter away, skin prickling and nearly itching with discomfort. He accepted the shovel from the other firebender, whose skin was red and blotchy, his bare chest sweaty, the handle hot where Zuko gripped it.

The grating squeal of metal wheels under duress assaulted his bad ear and Zuko turned, irritable. Ichiro offered him a one-shouldered shrug, the collar of his uniform already damp with sweat as he pushed a heavy, overfull coal cart. Gritting his teeth, Zuko turned back to the boiler door, having to use his entire body weight in order to get the circular metal latch to budge. The mechanism was so hot he could barely stand to touch it but he ignored the discomfort and pushed with all his might. The metal gave with a shriek, and the heat that met him was nearly enough to knock him off his feet. Inside, the coals burned a bright, fiery red, the surrounding air rippling with intensity.

He had only just started shoveling coal into the furnace when Isao’s condescending voice called from behind, “Enjoy your morning, gents. See you at noon.” He turned for the elevator, the lower-ranking guards assigned to monitor them all just as furious to see him leave. His smirk was the last thing Zuko saw before the elevator doors closed, smug and ugly.

〜〜〜

Despite their last meal having been the previous evening, Zuko’s unit was sent from their morning assignments directly to their next tasks. Trying to ignore the awful ache in his belly, he rinsed gratefully beneath the freestanding hose in the courtyard, the water marginally cooler than the room he had just spent the entire morning in. His arms and legs shook from exhaustion, his back aching after shoveling coal into the furnace’s sateless maw for hours on end. He’d managed not to scorch himself too badly, which was a relief, but he still felt weak and unsteady on his feet, his empty stomach doing little to help.

“Alright there?”

Zuko blinked at Ichiro in confusion, then immediately scowled and nodded. The man’s amber gaze flicked over him in a way he didn’t like, the skepticism there instantly putting Zuko on edge. He straightened in an effort to make himself look taller. “Fine.”

Ichiro didn’t look convinced.

The afternoon assignments took them to the kitchens, where they and the other firebenders in their cell division were armed with cleaning supplies and mops. The elevator stopped with a groan and Zuko and the other men filed out, their guard, a younger private named Kento, whistled a jaunty tune, spinning his kanabo on its leather strap. “As you all know, you’re here till last bell. Do what you’re meant to and you won’t find yourselves back in the boiler room until tomorrow, alright?”

The work wasn’t hard, not compared to what they suffered through during the morning shifts. Today Zuko had the mop, and it was an easy, mindless routine of moving his arms back and forth, back and forth, over the concrete floors. He purposefully avoided his cellmate as he worked, not needing any more of the man’s pity. 

On that particular afternoon, a division of female prisoners were already in the kitchens, preparing the evening’s meal. The smell of baking bread, rice, roasting meat, and vegetables made Zuko’s stomach cramp even more; the guards ate better than the inmates, that much was painfully apparent, as Zuko knew the only thing he had to look forward to that afternoon was a bowl of bland congee. He humored the idea of stealing a pear or something small, but figured the beating he’d earn for it likely wasn’t worth the trouble. He busied himself with mopping, growing more and more irritated as he had to keep going over areas where people’s dirty boots left trails through his previously clean floors. Still, he mused humorlessly, mopping was almost fun compared to the boiler room. 

With nearly double the usual amount of people in the kitchens, the noise was nearly insufferable. The head correctional cook shouted various commands at anyone who had the misfortune to be nearby, plates and dishes clattered with use, and numerous conversations carried on throughout as the inmates were able to enjoy the prison’s more menial tasks. Zuko couldn’t stand it all, so he purposefully moved with his mop towards the back of the kitchens, past the sink where Ichiro flashed a handsome grin at a woman scrubbing pots, and out of many of the guards’ lines of vision.

He had been leaning against a crate of chili peppers, picking coal dirt from beneath his fingernails when he paused, certain he’d heard something on his left. The only thing near him was a wall of empty vegetable crates stacked nearly to the ceiling and a storeroom which he knew housed bags of rice and other grain. Turning more fully to investigate, Zuko quickly realized yes, he most certainly _had_ heard something. He left the mop leaning against the crates, approaching the store closet with slow, careful footsteps. Light peeked through the crack below the door and Zuko found himself hesitating.

Hand above the doorknob, he caught the tail end of a distinctly male voice saying, “—some respect, you ungrateful Earth Kingdom swine. Not everyone—”

Heart thudding loudly in his ears, Zuko threw the door open, gut twisting as he realized what he was seeing. 

A male guard, one he vaguely recognized and thought might’ve been named Seiji, blinked at him in surprise. His face immediately hardened, arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the young woman pinned beneath him. She was facedown on a long table that cut through the center of the store closet, bent nearly in half as the guard’s weight kept her immobile, both arms pulled behind her in one of the man’s fists. Zuko pointedly did not look at her as he stammered, “Er, sorry. I—"

“Get the fuck out of here,” the guard snapped. “Unless you want to spend the rest of this month underground.”

Zuko barely suppressed a shiver at the threat—he’d spent the duration of more than a few punishments below ground in the cells where he’d once fought through a fever, so long ago—he had no desire to return to their pitch-black solitude, where time simultaneously slid away and dragged on endlessly. He was halfway out the door when a small noise came from behind and he made the mistake of looking back; the girl squirmed beneath the hand on the back of her neck, a dark bruise already curled over her jaw, blood streaming steadily from both nostrils and a cut just above her browline. She was staring at him with large, frightened eyes, blue and pleading.

Mentally cursing himself, Zuko stepped into a broad kata and summoned his chi.

〜〜〜

The cooler, Zuko had decided, was his least favorite part about the Boiling Rock.

His first and only experience in the cooling tanks had come during his first month at the prison when he’d still been adamant about fighting the guards and his fellow prisoners at every turn. Another inmate, one whose name he’d never discovered but whose face he doubted he’d ever forget, had cornered him with a sly smile and a foul proposition. Zuko had blasted fire at him without even thinking, and before he’d realized his mistake, he’d found himself being thrown into a frosted, four-foot by four-foot freezer, where his teeth had chattered so hard he’d been afraid they’d shatter, and it felt as though his blood turned sluggish and icy in his veins. 

The cooler was just as unpleasant as he remembered, and even after months of silently wishing for a reprieve from the prison’s eternal heat, he found himself shaking after only minutes, desperate for the end. 

When the guards finally came for him, he was curled in the corner furthest from the door, knees pulled to his chest and fists tucked into his armpits. Isao and Seiji hauled him upright, undeterred by his lack of limb coordination as he struggled to keep his feet under himself. He had enough of his wits to be concerned that _they_ were the ones who had come to fetch him. They all but carried him back to his cell, his numb feet dragging uselessly behind him, realizing the two men were in the midst of conversation but unable to focus long enough to listen properly.

They dumped Zuko without an ounce of grace onto the floor of his cell and fear crawled up his sternum as Isao slid the heavy door shut, his tall, broad form leaving very little room in the cramped space beside Seiji. He was vaguely aware of Ichiro on his bed, an open book on his lap, but he didn’t dare look over at him.

Seiji crouched and held one flame-lit finger near his face, the sudden warmth almost painful against his frozen cheek. “You ever find yourself in the position to interrupt me again, do yourself a favor and walk the other way, kid.”

Zuko felt a surge of rage and disgust, and knowing what it would get him, spit in his face.

When they were through with him, Isao and Seiji left in a seemingly much better mood, their heavy footsteps trailing down the hall outside. Zuko waited until he could no longer hear their smug, satisfied voices before pushing himself up on shaking arms, the residual chill from the cooler numbing the worst of the pain. He knew he’d be sorry when the frost eventually subsided but at that moment all he wanted was his bed.

Ichiro’s voice came from the opposite side of the cell, disappointed and far too sympathetic for Zuko’s liking. “You could save yourself a lot of pain if you didn’t fall for all their traps.”

Wiping at the blood that was streaming steadily into his eyes, Zuko gingerly curled onto his side, grunting, “Piss off.”

〜〜〜

“I never got the chance to thank you.”

Zuko flinched, jerking to face the voice on his left. He immediately regretted this decision, finding the girl from the kitchens just beside him. Grip tightening around the shaft of the broom handle he was working with, Zuko grunted, “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t though,” the girl insisted, brushing a strand of reddish-brown hair behind one ear. Zuko noted the bruise on her jaw was beginning to yellow around the edges. “That guard would’ve...It _wasn’t_ nothing, okay? I really owe you.”

He shot her a glare, very aware that the officer meant to be watching them would be circling their way again soon. “Just drop it, alright? I’m supposed to be sweeping.”

The girl’s lips twitched, her gaze flicking to the broom in his hands, and his stomach dipped in disgust as he noticed the white of her right eye was entirely bloodshot, likely from being struck. “Is that what you were doing?”

Heat rising to his face, Zuko turned away from her, longing for the days strangers opted not to speak to him.

The girl made an amused sound and before he knew it, she had taken the broom from him, speaking softly as she moved. “If you use it like this, it’ll work a lot better and cut your work down by half, I promise.”

Zuko snatched it back from her, saying with no small amount of irritation, “Don’t you have your own chores to do?”

The girl smirked. “Yeah, but I wanted to make sure I thanked you. You can call me Suki, by the way.” Her gaze flicked over the bruises Isao and Seiji had given him. “I’m really sorry.”

Zuko turned his back to her, growling, “Some advice, Suki—don’t try to make friends here. Just do whatever the guards say and you’ll be fine.”

Suki’s smile slipped a bit, hurt flashing across her face before it was replaced with anger. “Easy for you to say. I would rather take my own life before doing the kind of shit they ask of me.”

A pang went through his chest as he realized what he’d said. “Fuck, I didn’t—”

“Coming over here was a mistake,” Suki said, already turning away. “Sorry I even bothered.”

〜〜〜

The guards were on edge.

Many of them had been acting strange all morning and Zuko knew without a doubt something was wrong when alarms began to go off midway into the morning shift.

He straightened from the coal cart, back and shoulders screaming, sweat pouring into his eyes. The elevator doors opened at the front of the room and Isao stepped out, expression murderous. He marched straight to the group of younger guards that had been assigned to them, all of whom straightened as he approached, sharing panicked looks. Isao said something Zuko didn’t catch, then whirled around, fury in the harsh lines of his face. 

“Everyone here should’ve been back in their cells an hour ago!” He pointed to the elevator. “In!” When the prisoners stared at him, he flexed his hand and cracked his flaming whip, sending sparks through the air. _“Now!”_

On the way to the surface, Zuko edged closer to Ichiro, anything to distance himself from Isao’s temper. The officer stood behind them just beside Kento, the force of his anger bleeding throughout the cramped elevator and causing anxiety to curl within Zuko’s chest. 

His work unit was herded back through the prison by the now cowed looking guards in the direction of their cell block with no time to rinse away the coal dust and sweat. Zuko found himself sharing a concerned look with Ichiro as they were joined by the contingent of nonbenders that also resided in their cell division, their own unit delayed. Somewhere along the way, a chill settled in his chest, one he normally associated with the solitary cells underground. He couldn’t dwell on it, not with all of the surrounding chaos as the inmates were hurried along. Ichiro’s scowl deepened as the guards banged their kanabos against the walls and rails to usher them through the prison faster, their shouts ringing loudly throughout the metal halls. 

“Watch where you point that thing, you Fire Nation piece of—”

Guang’s angry voice abruptly changed into a shout as a guard slammed his studded kanabo into the man’s shoulder. The blow was enough to knock him into a nearby inmate, who stumbled and shoved Guang in retaliation. Han, towering over the surrounding men, forced his way through the mass and slammed his head into the guard’s, who promptly collapsed into a crumpled heap. Han wasted no time; he twirled the kanabo once then swung the weapon at the man who had shoved Guang with enough force that the other prisoner’s head snapped back with a sickening crack. His body hit the floor beside the guard’s, unmoving.

“Now let’s be rational, Han,” Isao said, calm voice overpowering the bewildered mutterings of the surrounding prisoners and ear-ringing blare of the alarms. Despite his unusually steady voice, sweat beaded at Isao’s forehead, his dark gaze nervous. Kento and four of the privates from the boiler room stood just in front of him, and Zuko was certain they would blast Han into ash at the slightest provocation. “Put the weapon down and we won’t—”

Han gave an ugly snarl, bringing the kanabo up in a quick, deadly arch, catching Kento’s extended hand. The young guard screamed, hand clutched to his chest, and the other officers stepped forward, thrusting open palms out—

And nothing happened.

Zuko stared in mute shock, too stunned to move. Han laughed, a deep belly laugh Zuko had never heard before, then he and half a dozen inmates were surging towards the guards. Ichiro’s large hand came down on Zuko’s shoulder, hauling him backward but Zuko thrashed in his grip, wrenching himself towards the fight, unable to pry his eyes from the catastrophe in front of them.

Three of their nonbender inmates had somehow lifted one of the guards onto their shoulders, the young man’s shouts drowned by the roar of the surrounding crowd. Before Zuko even realized their intent, they had tossed the guard over the side of the landing; clangs arose as his tumbling body struck numerous metal rails, then a resounding, final thud and there was silence.

Cheers erupted from the prisoners that weren’t attacking the remaining guards, who Zuko noted with displeasure were holding their ground. They had given up attempting to bend, wielding their kanabos with all the deadly accuracy they had been trained for. Isao stood in the midst of it all, blood streaking his face, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. There was still a wild, frantic look in his eyes and Zuko couldn’t help but laugh, a dark, hateful part of himself relishing the officer’s fear.

Below, heavy, clattering footsteps mixed with shouting arose from the stairwell as a dozen more officers rushed to break the fight apart, swarming up the stairs, swords and kanabos drawn. A female guard was the first over the top of the landing, and Zuko barely whirled in time to avoid being slashed across the chest, narrowly missing the end of her blade. He ducked behind her, kicking the back of her knees and causing her legs to buckle. In an instant, he’d stolen her sword. He hadn’t touched a weapon in years and quickly found his arms shaking with the effort of keeping the blade aloft.

Across the landing, Han was still wreaking havoc against the flood of guards, using the stolen kanabo as though he’d fought with one his entire life. Guang, back on his feet, was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, a whip in his hands. 

Isao’s shouting drew Zuko’s attention to where the fight had first broken out—the officer had his back to a corner, facing off against several nonbenders with nothing more than his fists, twenty raging prisoners between him and his allies. Zuko surged towards him, hatred pounding in his ears. He had nearly made it when Ichiro was suddenly in front of him, amber gaze furious. In less than a heartbeat, the older man had struck him hard enough for blood to bloom in his mouth as his teeth snapped together painfully. Flat on the ground and more than a little disoriented, he looked up in time to see Ichiro rise with Zuko’s stolen sword in his hand, bracing himself as the fresh guards finally overpowered the remaining prisoners at the top of the stairs.

Zuko gasped as a wall of fire erupted from the advancing guards; Ichiro deflected most of the blast but the nonbenders closest to them weren’t so lucky—their screams sent his left ear ringing painfully, and the surrounding guards were quick to take the distraction and bend a tight ring of fire around the inmates still on their feet.

Zuko felt like screaming as all around him, inmates began to kneel one by one, hands flat against the floor. With fires raging throughout the cramped space, they were quickly subdued, even more officers and guards swarming the landing, clamping heavy manacles and chains onto the inmates who could firebend, hauling away any of them who still clung to stolen weapons.

Isao’s blood-smeared face appeared above Zuko, the officer’s boot flying out and making contact with the side of his head. Pushed onto his stomach, a hand on his neck forced his face into the cold floor and a knee planted in the small of his back kept him flat on the ground. Isao’s snarl came just next to his good ear, loud enough for Zuko to hear above the alarms and surrounding screams. “Bend at me, I fucking dare you. You’ll find yourself just like the old man.”

He grabbed a fistful of Zuko’s hair, wrenching his head up. Zuko couldn’t quite bite back a gasp as he caught sight of Ichiro, his left forearm a mess of charred flesh, blood on his lips as awful, wheezing gasps were pulled from his lungs with every inhale. He hung between the bodies of two officers, seemingly unable to stand without their support.

Isao hauled Zuko to his feet, who was fighting back tears. Isao must have seen them—he gave a startled laugh, sounding tired and oddly shocked. “Agni, above. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, kid.”

〜〜〜

Eight casualties, the warden informed them the following morning. Three inmates and five guards, and therefore, five days none of the men in Zuko’s cell block would see food.

Zuko didn’t have much energy to protest. The warden’s dark gaze dragged over them all, a deep-rooted sort of hatred in the way he regarded them. Those directly responsible were serving punishments well deserved, the man added, and Zuko flinched.

He didn’t see Ichiro in the days after the incident, or even Han or Guang. His cell remained oddly empty, his cellmate’s usual snores absent and making the dark silence feel all the more foreboding. Zuko went through his usual routines, keeping to himself and growing all the more hungry as the days slid by agonizingly slow. Something had shifted, in those few minutes where no one had been able to firebend. The guards were harsher, quicker to violence. There was no more conversation between inmates as they passed through the halls or down the stairs. Isao didn’t bother him but Zuko didn’t trust for a moment that he had been forgotten—it was only a matter of time before the officer found a reason to seek him out.

It made Zuko sick to think that Ichiro was somewhere in the prison suffering all because of his own stupidity.

When he returned to his cell one evening, he found a body in the bed opposite his own.

It definitely wasn’t Ichiro, he decided, gaze tracing over the sleeping stranger. He wasn’t another prisoner from Zuko’s cell block, nor anyone he recognized from the yard or common areas. _Someone new,_ he decided, eyeing the stranger’s unfamiliar form. The man’s body still held the bulk of hard-earned muscle, his skin a deep brown not yet sallowed by too much time spent beneath synthetic lighting, his hair longer than Ichiro’s, with less gray, and so brown it was nearly black.

Cautious, Zuko settled onto his bed, kicking his shoes off, purposefully letting them drop to the floor. The man did not stir, his deep, slow breathing the only thing telling Zuko he was truly asleep.

Still, Zuko knew appearances could be deceiving. He reclined until his back met the wall, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees. Glaring at the man’s sleeping form, inexplicably angry that this stranger was here and not someone he had been starting to consider a friend, Zuko leaned his head back and decided to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might’ve guessed, this chapter puts the timeline just after the Day of Black Sun. At this point, Zuko has been at the Boiling Rock since he was 14 and he’s now 16, just like in canon. So we’re all caught up! And now Suki’s here (as well as a not-so-mysterious stranger), yay!
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who has been so supportive, I love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Though he hadn’t meant to, Zuko must have fallen asleep. He awoke with a start as muffled, almost inaudible sounds of distress arose from the opposite side of the cell. He immediately straightened, trying to ignore his aching neck and blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes. Across from him, the stranger was twitching in Ichiro’s bed, muttering things he couldn’t quite understand, his breathing growing erratic.

He jumped as the man bolted upright with a shout, prison-issued shirt damp with sweat. Staying very still where he was slouched against the wall, Zuko watched warily as the man shoved his hands through his hair, breath shuddering as he fought to calm down. He did a double-take when he finally noticed he wasn’t alone, quickly scrambling to his feet with a startled inhale and Zuko froze, bracing himself.

The man stopped, chest rising and falling rapidly. He was tall, much taller than Zuko, with a broad, muscle-bound frame that was far more intimidating when standing upright. His feet were braced in a wide defensive stance, one he had slipped into without thought. A warrior then, Zuko thought, gripping the edge of his bed with pale knuckles—he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to hold his own if the stranger advanced but he’d damn well try.

“I...” the man trailed off with a confused frown, a deep furrow forming between his brows. After a handful of seconds, he held his empty palms up, slowly backing away and lowering himself to sit on Ichiro’s bed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He exhaled slowly as they regarded each other, shoving a hand through his hair—there was a flash of blue as he did so, perhaps beads. Zuko flushed as the man’s gaze flitted about his face, no doubt taking in his most prominent scar. He scowled, heat creeping up his neck as something like disgust settled over the man’s expression. “Spirits, you—”

Whatever the man had been about to say was drowned by the sudden blast of morning horns. A second later, the door to their cell was rolling open on its iron track, and Zuko scrambled to put his boots back on. He quickly shoved himself to his feet and disappeared into the flood of other inmates in the hall, far too eager to put some distance between himself and the stranger in his cell, all the while telling himself he wasn’t running.

〜〜〜

Strangely enough, and not even by Zuko’s own doing, he did not see his new cellmate in the days that followed. When he returned to his cell the evening of their first encounter, he found himself alone but flippantly wrote it off, far too exhausted to really care. It wasn’t unusual for work units to run into the night, depending on their task. He fell into a restless sleep, all too aware of Ichiro’s absence. When the morning horns sounded, the stranger had not returned.

He didn’t worry about it, not at first. _Maybe the idiot already got himself thrown into solitary,_ he thought humorlessly, staring at the empty bed. _Or the cooler, even._ Another thought occurred to him, one much darker. He wondered if that were the case if he might expect Ichiro’s return. 

Zuko didn’t waste too much energy worrying about the stranger—if he was dead, so be it. There was nothing Zuko could do, and so he threw himself into whatever work was given to him, grateful for the routine.

A break from the monotony came in the form of Suki, and Zuko’s insides twisted with a mix of guilt and embarrassment at the sight of her. He immediately turned away, hoping she hadn’t spotted him. They were in the courtyard during one of their allotted breaks, a time where male and female prisoners mingled under strict supervision from the patrolling guards high above them. Suki was leaning against the wall directly under one of the guard stations, alone and out of sight from anyone above.

Watching her from the corner of his good eye, he noted the way she stiffened every time another inmate passed, eyes suspicious and darting about, taking in everything and missing nothing. He remembered being in her shoes, being so terrified of every other prisoner for months, never knowing if or when it was safe enough to drop your guard, how exhausting that quickly became. He couldn’t imagine what this Earth Kingdom girl was feeling, with no bending or weapons, surrounded by enemies in a foreign nation.

Well, he supposed he did, in a way. Steeling himself, Zuko took a deep breath and made his way over to the girl.

Her blue gaze snapped to him at once as he crossed the courtyard, unhurried and giving her time to leave if she wanted. He suspected she’d known where he was all along. She didn’t run, only straightened when he approached, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders as if expecting an attack.

Zuko said nothing, settling against the wall next to her, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the jagged brick digging into his shoulders. He could feel her staring at him, surely trying to decide his motive, but he simply remained quiet and watched the other prisoners milling about the yard. 

〜〜〜

Again, sleep had nearly found him when commotion outside his cell arose, and a moment later the iron door was sliding open, light spilling in from the hallway beyond. Zuko was immediately on his feet though he quickly shrunk back as three guards grappled with the struggling form of his new cellmate, dumping the large man onto the floor with as much care as they would a moo-sow carcass. 

A shadow moved across the threshold. “Keep in mind what we discussed. I’ll give you a few days to mull things over,” Zuko felt all the breath leave his lungs as the Warden stepped through the door frame, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded the man on the floor. “Perhaps your memory will have improved.”

His gaze slid to Zuko, who was still standing, feet rooted to the floor. The corner of Warden Akumo’s lips twisted into a smile as his gaze flicked over him, and Zuko felt his face grow heated at the scrutiny. “Zuko here could probably share a thing or two about resistance, and how little traction it will gain you within these walls.” He finally looked away and Zuko nearly sank to his knees in relief. “Enjoy the reprieve.”

With that he was gone, and a moment later the door was sliding shut, leaving the cell in relative darkness. The only light came from a weak bulb in the center of the ceiling and a rectangular slit on their door though the bulb would soon be extinguished for the night. Zuko remained frozen in place, staring at the stranger on the ground. The man dragged himself up, hissing through his teeth with every pained breath. Unease flooded him as he watched the man struggle to rise but he didn’t dare try to help. The flesh Zuko could see didn’t appear too damaged but the stranger moved slowly, carrying himself as though anything else was an impossibility.

Zuko didn’t move until the man was seated on Ichiro’s bed, hand pressed against his side, face twisted in discomfort. Seating himself onto his own bed, knees drawn up, Zuko forced down his nerves and asked, “Where did they take you?”

The man’s blue eyes lifted, wary. “I’m...not entirely sure. I think it was somewhere far below the prison. Somewhere dark.”

Solitary then, Zuko decided. And a nonbender, if he hadn’t seen the coolers. He found himself glancing at the beads in the man’s hair, something so small but unmistakable. “You’re Water Tribe?”

“I am,” the man’s expression tightened, looking troubled, so Zuko let it drop, not wishing to provoke him. After a few more moments of what he felt was an increasingly awkward silence, the man said, “The Warden called you ‘Zuko’. Is that—that’s your name, then?”

Zuko nodded mutely, throat suddenly tight.

“That’s a Fire Nation name.” When Zuko continued to say nothing, unsure what sort of reaction that warranted, the man sighed, looking him over again, more slowly this time. After a long, tense silence, he seemed to realize Zuko wasn’t going to respond so he tried something else. “How long have you been here?”

Zuko lifted his shoulders in a shrug, slightly unnerved. “I don’t know.”

“And...how old are you, Zuko?”

There was something about the look on the water tribesman’s face that made Zuko want to squirm, to hide, but there was nowhere to go in their cell. He shrugged again. He hadn’t given much thought to his age in a while. He wasn’t just being flip, he truly didn’t know how long he’d been at the Boiling Rock. He’d tried to keep track of the days when he’d first arrived but he’d quickly given that up—not knowing was almost better, it allowed for the weeks to slide by and muddle together into an indiscernible mess that was easier to accept. But the man was still staring at him expectantly so he muttered, “Fifteen, maybe.”

The man’s eyes widened a fraction and Zuko immediately regretted opening his mouth. Pity, damning and utterly useless, stared back at him and it set his insides boiling. He lifted his chin, daring the water tribesman to say anything more. “What?”

They lapsed into silence, the man looking away finally, and Zuko thought, _Good_. Entirely over whatever piss poor conversation that had been amounting to, he reclined against the wall, exhausted and aching from the day but unwilling to turn his back on the man just yet. Despite his exhaustion, anger seethed like a storm in his chest, hot and familiar. If he tried hard enough, he thought he might be able to summon his chi and bend more than a pathetic wisp of flame. He might need to.

He shuddered involuntarily, hoping it had gone unnoticed. He wanted sleep and to never have to think about the man sitting across from him again, because it meant thinking about the one who wasn’t.

Unfortunately, his cellmate didn’t seem to get the message.

After a few minutes of quiet, the man leaned his head against the wall, gaze tracking across the lines of the bolted ceiling. “I have a son about your age.” Zuko stiffened, a chill settling in his stomach, very different from the one he felt each day passing below the earth’s surface. A dozen memories came to mind, each worse than the last, of a childhood he hadn’t quite managed to leave behind. “A daughter too, though perhaps a few years younger.”

Closing his eyes, Zuko inhaled slowly through his nose, a tightening fist of nerves blooming somewhere between his ribs, quelling the anger and replacing it with something else.

“Spirits, how they used to argue,” he chuckled, wistfulness cracking his voice. “I had been separated from them for many years until recently. I thought by leaving them in the South I would be saving them, that by doing my part to end this war of your countrymen that I was keeping them safe.” He shifted, a pained noise escaping him. “How foolish I was to ever think that. They are so much more involved in this war than I ever wanted them to be."

He didn’t elaborate, only moved so his position mirrored Zuko’s. He looked as exhausted as Zuko felt, with dark rings below his eyes that bespoke too many nights without proper rest. Zuko found himself wondering if that had been the Warden’s doing or the nightmares. Eventually, the bulb above them went out for the night, the only light now coming from the small window in their door.

In the following silence, Zuko could no longer ignore the twinges racing up his spine. Still not entirely certain the water tribesman wouldn’t attack him in his sleep, he reclined onto his back slowly, hands crossed over his stomach as he stared into the dark.

 _I have a son about your age._ He shuddered again, heart in his throat just at the thought of his father. Time had stolen so much from him—the sound of his mother’s voice, the shape of her smile, the way Azula’s hair felt between his fingers, even the taste of lychee and ash bananas—but it hadn’t quite managed to ease the flood of emotions that any thought of his father evoked.

Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the memories of Ozai and all that came with them. There were too many years where every comment had been a critique, every misstep enough to warrant the back of a hand or words that would ring in his ears for days. And yet, despite the fear, Zuko had wished so desperately for his father’s favor, had tried time and time again to prove himself worthy of being the Crown Prince. Ozai’s private little smiles, which had always made him seem so much less frightening, so much more human, were in surplus for Azula but never for him. Zuko felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his sister. _A daughter too._

The man’s voice once again broke him from his thoughts; “In my dreams I see them tortured by Fire Nation soldiers. I see my entire culture wiped from the South, our footprint upon the ice shelves gone as though we never existed, our connection with the spirits and our ancestors forgotten.” He was silent for the briefest of moments, then, “You’re Fire Nation, aren’t you?”

Zuko rolled onto his side, facing the wall, scar pressed into the arm that cushioned his head. “Once, maybe.”

“Answer me this, then; when will this war see it’s end?”

Zuko, recalling the fire that had burned in Azula’s sunlit gaze the day she’d caught up to him, chose not to respond.

〜〜〜

The water tribesman’s name was Hakoda, Zuko would soon find out, and it seemed he had no use for silence. He tried to coax conversation from Zuko more than once in the nights that followed, to no avail. Instead, he started telling stories when sleep would come to neither of them, speaking in low tones about his life before he’d left the Southern Water Tribe. Some nights, Zuko listened, finding himself lulled to sleep by the man’s steady, baritone voice, and at other times he laid awake, afraid his cellmate was waiting for him to close his eyes, to drop his guard. He learned more about the water tribesman than he ever wished to—heard more stories about his children, a lost wife whom he loved deeply, the men who were loyal to him, his life before war had found his family in the South.

While he listened, he couldn’t help but wonder what the man sought to gain from telling Zuko everything about himself, if it was more than a way for him to avoid his own nightmares. Any information gained by someone else was often a tool turned around and used against them so Zuko couldn’t quite figure out _why_ the water tribesman shared so much with him.

With very little else to distract himself with, Zuko found his thoughts turning to these questions once again as the guards marched the inmates from his cell block towards the showers. Already, the air was thick with humidity, so warm and damp it beaded along the metal walls of the hallways, running in thin rivulets to the floor. The water tribesman was behind him, silently glaring at the officers who ushered them along. Zuko wanted to tell him to keep his head down, to avoid giving them any reason to get angry, but he kept his mouth shut and his gaze focused on his shoes, telling himself some lessons were better learned firsthand.

The showers were just another unsettling part of the Boiling Rock that Zuko had pretty much learned to tune out of when the need arose. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d suffered, not by far, and he’d even come to consider the hot water a relief on his tired muscles at the end of the day. He pulled his shirt over his head numbly, shoulders protesting at the stretch. Someone inhaled sharply behind him and he shot a glare over his shoulder. Hakoda’s gaze was glued to his back, mouth slightly agape. Zuko wrenched his head forward, anger growing in the pit of his stomach.

In their cell not long after, water still clinging to his hair, Zuko waited for Hakoda to speak. Silence lay thickly over the dark, the sound of the man’s breathing the only thing telling him he hadn’t fallen asleep.

He expected questions but they never came.

〜〜〜

“He’s Water Tribe, you said?”

“Yeah,” Zuko grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. He and Suki were in their usual spot beneath the guard station, and it was stifling even in the shade. “Won’t shut up about his home and family.”

“That’s...kind of sad,” Suki said, and Zuko shot her a glance. “He must miss them a great deal.”

“Taking a trip down memory lane won’t exactly help any of us, will it? It doesn’t change anything.”

Suki tilted her head, blue gaze tracking over the other prisoners in the yard. “Maybe not but it's probably a comfort to him. I know I spend a lot of time thinking about my village, my friends, everyone who might’ve gotten hurt because of me and the choices I made.” She turned to him and their eyes met. “You didn’t...you didn’t leave behind anyone you care about?”

Zuko examined a hand, scrutinizing the coal dust that had healed into the cracks and calluses of his palms, making his skin appear perpetually filthy. Suki was only curious, he told himself, though it didn’t stop the irritation that reared its ugly head deep inside. What could he say? That everyone he’d ever loved had either died or betrayed him? 

“No,” he finally said, not missing the way her mouth turned down in pity. He looked away, afraid he’d get too angry and say something he’d regret if he continued staring at her.

She seemed to realize she’d touched on a sensitive topic but the silence didn’t last. “I got some news from the head duty officer this morning.” She paused, only continuing when Zuko made a vaguely acknowledging sound. “I’m being reassigned to a new work unit. Different inmates, different chores, different guards.” 

Relief flooded him, loosening something he hadn’t even known was knotting his insides. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow,” Suki said, smiling faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Good—that’s great,” Zuko said, hating how awkward he felt, even though he was privately grateful. “Has anyone else, er, bothered you?”

Suki shook her head, hair brushing her shoulders. “No, not since...not since the kitchens.” Then she surprised him by wrapping a hand around his wrist, eyes shining and grip firmer than he would’ve guessed. “Thank you.”

“You already thanked me.”

“I can thank you again if I want,” she grinned, and this time it was genuine. “I really owe you.”

His anger forgotten, Zuko gazed at Suki for what felt like the first time. She was young, probably younger than him, and yet she was in a place meant for prisoners of war and traitors of the worst sort. He felt like asking, _How did you get here?_ **_Why_ ** _are you here?_ What could this girl have possibly done to deserve such a fate?

Instead, he settled back against the wall, her hand still a warm weight on his arm. “Don’t mention it.”

Suki rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah.” She slid herself free of him even as she dropped her voice. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow.

“You were there for the riot, weren’t you?”

“Uh,” he floundered a bit, surprised. It had been a few weeks since the incident that had lost him his cellmate, and he still couldn’t close his eyes without imagining how different things could’ve gone if he hadn’t been such an idiot. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

“I heard no one could bend. Is that true?”

Zuko nodded, mouth dry. 

“Wow,” Suki said, leaning away slightly, a furrow between her brows. “That’s...how is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands, remembering the panic, the _cold_ , at discovering his chi snuffed. “It didn’t last very long. The guards, they were eventually able to bend and that’s how they got everything back under control.” He tried not to shudder, unable to block out the sight of blackened bodies on the floor, the horrible smell. It was far too reminiscent of another memory he wished so desperately to forget.

Suki swallowed. “I wonder what something like that meant for the war.”

“Probably nothing good for the Fire Nation,” he murmured bitterly.

Blue eyes shifted towards him, narrowed slightly. “That better not be sympathy I hear.”

Zuko couldn’t help but laugh, short and ugly. “Agni, no.” Even as he said it, he couldn’t help but think of his uncle, of Azula. Despite everything, the thought of harm coming to either of them ate at him.

Whatever Suki said next was swallowed by a horn blast from the top guard’s tower. Confused, Zuko stepped out from beneath their shaded hiding spot, squinting upward. The gondolas that brought prisoners and goods alike to the Boiling Rock swayed to a halt at the topmost landing, the metal cable car lurching precariously as it docked. Officers and guards swarmed about outside but there was no organization to the mass—even Zuko could hear their loud, excited chattering.

A moment later the doors to the gondola opened and he saw why.

Dressed in crimson, black, and gold armor, their helms oiled and gleaming even in the weak sun, a contingent of fresh guards filed out of the gondola, the synchronized fall of their boots ringing across the courtyard as every prisoner watched, the silence deafening. Welcoming cheers erupted from the guards who had met them, and Zuko suddenly felt ill as his gaze landed on a man stepping through the gondola door. He was swarmed by welcoming greetings, quickly disappearing, but Zuko had _seen_ , and he thought he might be sick.

“Zuko?” Suki asked, voice sounding small. “What is it?”

“I—” How could he explain without destroying whatever tentative relationship he’d built with her? That he’d panicked his very first day, beating a guard in the process, a guard he hadn’t seen since and presumed dead? The very same guard who had just stepped across the gondola threshold, alive and well? What would she possibly think of him? She was still staring at him, wide gaze imploring, and he ground out, “It’s nothing.”

Looking doubtful, Suki held a hand over her eyes, blocking out the sun as she watched the fresh guards mingle with the old. “I sure hope so.”

〜〜〜

“That officer has been watching you ever since you sat down.”

Zuko didn’t bother to look up at Hakoda, only continued glaring into his bowl of congee as though he might scare the meager portion into doubling before his eyes. He knew exactly who the water tribesman was referring to. “And?”

“I haven’t seen him before.”

“How long have you been here again?”

Hakoda made an unamused sound. “You seem to have a lot of enemies, Zuko.”

Zuko dared to meet the man’s gaze. “If I didn’t I would be here.”

The furrow was back between Hakoda’s dark brows. He glanced towards the far wall of the prison cafeteria, past the long rows of seated inmates, where a group of officers appeared deep in conversation, postures relaxed and helmets tucked beneath their arms. Isao was among them, his tall, broad figure notable even from afar. Just beside him, his hair not quite long enough to hide the scars that crisscrossed his scalp, the guard who Zuko had spent so many nights trying not to think about stood with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face as he glared across the rows of tables. Zuko quickly went back to staring into his congee, unable to forget the stomach-dropping feel of bone giving way beneath his hands, of blood, sharp and metallic in his nose, the way the man’s struggles had slowly grown weaker until they—

“Zuko—”

_“What?”_

Hakoda blinked at him and Zuko felt heat crawling up his neck. He hated the way the water tribesman said his name, as though they were allies, as though Zuko deserved any sort of familiarity after what he’d done to Ichiro. Hakoda lowered his voice, gaze insistent. “You understand the danger, don’t you?”

“Better than you, no doubt,” Zuko said coldly, wishing the man would simply leave him alone.

“Have you done something to him?”

He snorted. “You could say that.”

Hakoda’s thumb tapped an erratic beat on the tabletop, his mouth drawn into a frown. He looked to be thinking hard. “Perhaps you could talk to one of the division officers, explain that you need prot—”

Zuko slammed his fists down with a snarl, sending his bowl clattering. “I _don’t_ need anyone’s help! What about that is so hard for you to understand?” With a final angry shout, he rose from the table, palms itching, shoving through the seated inmates without care. Anything to put some distance between himself and the water tribesman.

Zuko silently fumed as he stormed back to his cell, anger burning in his throat like bile. He listened to the water tribesman’s night-time ramblings and suddenly the man thought he had some sort of agency or control over his life? That he needed someone else to watch out for him, as though he hadn’t spent only Agni knew how many years on his own? For all he knew, the stories Hakoda told were a ruse, a way to get Zuko to let his guard down. 

“No,” he muttered to himself, throwing his cell door open and then closed angrily. He paced back and forth across the metal floor, the sound of his own heavy boots echoing loudly in his ears. “Not fucking likely.”

His anger towards Hakoda was a good distraction from his concerns about the returned officer, though the fear from when he’d first seen the man came flooding back the more time he had alone. Isao had been there the day Zuko had nearly—

He stopped, shoving down the urge to vomit. But Isao knew, was friends with the man even, if their joyful reunion had been anything to go by. Zuko swallowed forcefully and continued pacing, too nervous to sit, his mind racing anxiously until the evening horn sounded, signaling the end of the day. Biting his lip, he glared at the door; Hakoda would be back soon, bringing with him more questions Zuko didn’t want to answer or even think about.

Truly feeling like the coward he’d known he was since childhood, he curled onto his bed, back to Ichiro’s side of the cell (for it was still Ichiro’s, he kept telling himself, and nothing Hakoda did would change that). He could hear the other prisoners from his cell division returning from the cafeteria, tense silence accompanied by the sound of their footfalls where conversation once occupied, only broken by guards barking orders or the sound of a kanabo strike. He closed his eyes as the door rolled open on its track, Hakoda’s familiar step entering their cell. He sensed more than heard the water tribesman hesitate, probably standing just behind him, and he braced himself, waiting. Eventually, he heard Hakoda sigh then the sounds of him settling into bed. 

Hakoda did not try to pry conversation from him as he did most other nights, which Zuko told himself he was grateful for. The minutes slid by, the bulb going out above them for the night, and Zuko was left alone with the thoughts of Isao and the officer, of their hate-filled glares and all that could possibly entail.

After what felt like an eternity, he could not stand the silence any longer. If he lay there a moment more, fear threatening to consume him, he may go mad. Hating himself, Zuko whispered into the dark, “I... I used to sit by a turtle duck pond with my mother. She would read me plays— _Love Amongst the Dragons, Roynar and the Fifth Brigade,_ even _The Spider Wasp and the Gilacorn_. There were...there were cherry tree groves and fire lilies, a willow we would always sit under. I used to...to get concerned for the turtle ducks in the winter, because they had no home except the pond, and it would always freeze over. I would beg my mother to have a structure built for them so they had somewhere warm to sleep but…” _But father would never allow it,_ he didn’t say, eyes burning.

There was silence from the opposite side of the dark and Zuko felt foolish. His cheeks warmed and he mentally cursed himself, wondering why he’d shared _that_ of all things. Hakoda was a warrior, he wouldn’t care about turtle ducks or—

“My daughter used to leave out seal jerky for the wild polar bear dogs that roamed near our village,” the man said, surprising Zuko. He chuckled fondly. “She always thought they looked too skinny.”

“You must miss her,” Zuko murmured, thinking of what Suki had said.

“Every day without her and her brother is agony,” Hakoda said softly. “You may not understand but...when I lost my wife, I also lost myself, for a long time. I wasn’t there for my children, not like I should have been. I was consumed by the thought that the men who had taken so much from me still drew breath, for this war that had never touched our shores suddenly became personal in a matter of minutes. I told myself that leaving was for my children’s own wellbeing, that I was doing my part to fight, but it was selfish. When I saw them only recently, I realized how much of their childhood I have missed because of that need for revenge. My boy—he was only at my waist when I left our village—he’s nearly to my shoulder now. And my girl...spirits, she has grown so much. Their mother would be proud of them both.”

Zuko thought of Azula, of how drastically she appeared to have changed when she’d found him in the desert. They had both become hardened in their years apart but she was a blade sharpened and ready for use. It had been startling, the sight of her at war with the little girl he hadn’t seen in years—a girl he’d never see again. Even though he still didn’t trust the man, he thought he understood at least part of Hakoda’s pain.

Hakoda had long since fallen asleep when Zuko finally began to drift off, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, threatening to overtake him. Dawn couldn’t have been more than a few hours away and while his anxiety had mostly unclenched the fist it held around his chest, he still couldn’t shake the fear of falling asleep.

He had just decided to let his eyes slide shut when there came the telltale sound of boots outside his door. Instantly on edge, Zuko bolted upright, almost nauseous as the light coming through the door slat flickered and went dark; bodies crossing by then coming to a halt. Scraping at the keyhole, then the horrible sound of the lock unclicking. A moment later, two figures slipped inside, the cell going dark again as the door slid shut. 

Isao’s low snarl caused Zuko’s stomach to drop somewhere between his feet. “I see you’re already awake. Good. You remember Hikaru, don’t you? He certainly remembers you.”

 _Hikaru_ , Zuko thought, unable to speak. Finally a name for the face.

Hikaru looked no less intimidating up close, and the beam of light from the door slat highlighted just enough of him so that it was plain to see where the hair did not cover the many, many scars Zuko had given him.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Zuko said, hating how small he sounded. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Hikaru interrupted with a sneer. “Didn’t _do_ anything?” He backhanded Zuko hard enough to send him to the floor, blood on his tongue. “Because of you, I had to relearn how to speak, how to walk, how to fucking hold a spoon!” In the dark, Zuko couldn’t see the blows coming, and had barely any time to brace himself as a steel-toed boot made contact with his ribs. He groaned, the edge of his bed digging into his spine.

“That’s enough,” Hakoda’s deep voice said, and Zuko looked up in disbelief. The man was on his feet, fists clenched, a dangerous look on his face. “Would you really stoop to such dishonor? Attack a child in the middle of the night?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Isao asked, shaking out his arm. A long, trailing whip of fire lit the entire cell orange, casting shadows across the men. Zuko cringed away, feeling the heat of the whip even from where he was still half-curled on the floor. “Go back to sleep, we’re going to take this upstart on a little walk.”

Hakoda’s lip curled and Zuko felt a flicker of fear in his gut. “I will do no such thing.” Faster than Zuko could have expected, the water tribesman was launching himself at Isao, completely ignoring the fire whip as it cracked towards him. Hikaru turned, hand going to his kanabo, but Zuko reached it first. He tore the heavy weapon from the officer’s belt, forcing down the urge to hurl as he swung it with all his strength. He struck the back of Hikaru’s head, knocking him down with one hit. He remained unmoving on the floor, hands twitching uselessly and Zuko stumbled back, dropping the club, unable to do much more than stare even as Hakoda continued to grapple with Isao. 

The water tribesman had Isao in a tight headlock, his forearm pressing against the man’s jugular. Zuko looked away as the officer's struggles began to weaken then his entire body went slack. Hakoda dropped him to the floor, chest heaving as he panted. 

“Is he—”

“Asleep,” Hakoda said, expression still thunderous. He bent over Isao’s form, patting his sides, turning him over to better access his pockets. After a moment, he rose, a keyring on his forefinger. “C’mon. If we’re quick, we might just make it out of here before anyone misses these two.”

Vaguely stunned, Zuko followed Hakoda in a daze, watching mutely as he locked their cell behind him, the hallway feeling empty and bare. 

Hakoda ushered him along, moving quickly and determinedly. Zuko had no idea where they were going, wasn’t even sure Hakoda himself knew, but moving forward felt right. They hurried down flight after flight of stairs, the numerous landings silent except for the sounds of sleeping inmates.

Zuko stopped when they reached the corridor that would take them to the courtyard. “Wait, wait. I have to—” He ran his hands through his hair with a curse. “Follow me.”

“There’s no time—”

Zuko didn’t wait to convince Hakoda; he whirled around, taking lefts and rights with abandon, knowing every second that ticked by they risked being caught. He finally found a door he’d passed countless times, the crack below it dark. He tried the handle to no avail. “Keys,” he said to Hakoda, fingers shaking. Hakoda wordlessly handed them over and Zuko began testing each one. Finally, after what felt like a century, one turned. Gasping in relief, Zuko shoved his way inside, stomach dipping at the sight of filing cabinets; row after row after row.

“Zuko, what are we doing—”

“Give me a few minutes,” he snapped, racing through the archives, gaze flitting from each tiny labeled indicator to the next. He finally found the one he was looking for and tore the drawer open, riffling through the papers inside. He found Suki’s file with a cry of relief, flipping through the pieces of parchment with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Victorious, he crammed the papers back into the drawer, hurrying back the way they had come with long strides. “You don’t have to come with me. I can catch up to you, you should—”

“Zuko,” Hakoda said, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. Zuko tried not to flinch. “We’re leaving together. Now let’s go.”

Zuko nodded, throat tight. He hesitated as Hakoda locked the door behind them, another name occurring to him but it was too late—someone would begin looking for Isao and Hikaru eventually. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the Boiling Rock as they could before that happened.

Mind on the verge of panic, Zuko led the way through the bowels of the prison to the female cell divisions. They hid below stair landings when patrolling guards passed, sweat dripping into Zuko’s eyes, his heart pounding in his ears. Finally, they reached the proper cell. Hakoda looked no less worried than Zuko felt as he unlocked the door, and Zuko peaked inside, praying he was right. “Suki?”

He heard a faint gasp, then, “Zuko?”

“Come on,” he whispered, hoping not to disturb Suki’s cellmate. A moment later, Suki’s pale face emerged into the light, eyes wide. She did a double-take at the sight of Hakoda but Zuko couldn’t dwell on it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hall as Hakoda locked the door. “We’re getting out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, four chapters in and we finally get to the conversation in the fic description :) you might be able to guess which scenes I wrote first lol. I decided to have Zuko, Hakoda, and Suki break themselves out bc in canon Zuko is the one to tell Sokka about the Boiling Rock, and since he’s never met Sokka and the gang likely doesn’t have anyone who knows the Fire Nation very well at this point, I opted to keep it out. I really appreciate everyone's patience with updates, as well as all of the kind words, you guys are the best!


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight was just beginning to break over the lip of the caldera when they reached the gondola landing, the morning steam blazing orange beneath the rising sun. Zuko, Hakoda, and Suki spilled onto the receiving platform, out of breath and drenched in sweat. Zuko shoved his damp hair from his eyes, breathing raggedly and almost unable to believe they had made it so far. As early as it was, the prison was eerily silent. There was no movement he could see—not a soul stirred in the courtyard or even along the rows and rows of patrol parapets; only steam rolled over the high walls of the prison, a gossamer curtain that curled in the sweltering breeze. It was too still, too quiet, especially for what they were doing. Before them, just as silent as everything else, a single massive gondola car stood, it’s neighboring line empty.

“How does—how does it work?” Hakoda panted, glancing over his shoulder the way they’d come.

Zuko cast about, following the trail of thick cables that held the gondolas aloft to the where the line released at a massive spool bolted to the ground behind them. He’d spent hours watching the guards at this very landing, bored out of his mind in the courtyard now far below, making up stories about the people who worked above. He darted towards it, searching for something, anything, that might buy them some time. A single lever arose from the mass, black-handled and gleaming.

“When I say run, get to the gondola. We won’t have much time,” Zuko snapped, lifting his foot and giving the bar kick after kick, aware that with every passing second they might be swarmed by guards. It didn’t budge and Zuko cursed, resisting the urge to pull at his hair.

Pulling at his shoulder, Suki cried, “What are you _doing?”_

“We have to make sure no one can reverse the car or stop us! You both need to be inside before—”

His words were lost as all around them alarms began to blare. Siren shrieks lifted the hair on the back of his neck, sending his bad ear ringing painfully. He cried out, a hand clapped to the side of his head. “Go!” he shouted, pointing to the gondola. “Get inside!”

Hakoda’s expression was fierce. “We aren’t leaving you here—”

“Just trust me,” Zuko spit, gripping the lever and pushing it forward. Immediately, the gondola gave a terrible groan, lurching forward painstakingly slow. Suki cursed, grabbing Hakoda’s arm and pulling him towards it. Only when Zuko was certain they could make it in time did he crouch beside the lever, forcing down his rising nausea. Hands on the base of the bar, he summoned what he could of his chi, the metal growing hot beneath his palms. He shuddered, trying not to envision his mother or the men he had seen burned beyond hope the day of the riot. The metal quickly began to glow red, heat emanating from where he held it as he tried to ignore the knowledge that with every passing second, guards were climbing closer, the gondola inching further away.

Zuko gritted his teeth as he concentrated, shoving down a sudden wave of dizziness. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he gripped the handle and leaned his full weight down onto the bar, bending the weakened metal as far as he could. It wasn’t nearly enough, the bar could still be manipulated if someone really tried, but he was comforted slightly knowing that any attempt to reverse the gondola would be delayed at least a little.

Unsatisfied but out of time, he sprinted across the landing, heart pounding in his ears as he realized just how little time he had. The gondola was approaching the furthest end of the platform, his only chance for freedom. Behind him, the door of the receiving platform burst open, shouting guards sending blasts of flames at his back, so close he could feel the scorching heat. Suki screamed something as, without slowing, he leaped across the gap between the landing and the car, barely clearing it. He hit the ground hard, sending the whole lift swaying and jarring his elbow in the process. Fire, so hot he could feel it from where he lay on the floor, engulfed their car, furling through the open windows, heating the floors beneath his palms. Struggling to his knees, nearly blinded by smoke and heat, Zuko split the blast in half, forcing it back outside the gondola, groaning at the effort.

Suki’s incredulous voice rose above the roar of flames that sailed around them. “You never said you were a _firebender!”_

Zuko swallowed, dropping his arms as the fire relented, hoping the others couldn’t see how badly he was shaking. Hakoda took a step forward but he avoided looking at him, jerking away from the man's outstretched palm. He said nothing, keeping his gaze on the receding figures of the guards, not quite prepared for the disgust he was sure to find on either of Hakoda or Suki’s faces.

A slim hand curled around his wrist. Suki said softly, “Not that it’s a bad thing. Just a bit of a shock.”

He mustered a weak smile, surprised at how relieved he felt to hear her say that. “Thank you.”

Hakoda didn’t try to touch him but Zuko felt his presence at his elbow as clearly as if the man had laid a hand on his shoulder. He said nothing for a long moment, so long that Zuko’s chest began to feel oddly tight. He opened his mouth, then closed it as if thinking better of it. Finally, the man said, “If we make it across the lake alive, we’ll need a way off the island. We’re lucky to have made it this far.” He held up the keys he’d stolen from Isao, closing his fingers around them, veins protruding in his large forearm as he squeezed. Zuko looked away. “Very lucky indeed.”

“We’ll have to worry about that when we get there,” Suki said, hands on the window lip. “Can’t this thing can’t move any faster?”

“Probably not,” Zuko leaned out the window next to her, stomach swooping as heat practically blasted him in the face, the boiling water far below nearly concealed by steam. “All we can do now is hope we make it to the other side before they find a way to stop us.”

Even though they were steadily putting distance between themselves and the prison, the still-screaming alarms bounced off the surrounding volcano walls, making it feel as if they were still on the receiving platform. Zuko’s left ear continued to ache with every shriek and he rubbed at his temple, hoping to drive away his rising headache. A clamor from behind them drew his attention back towards the prison; the door they had stumbled through was open again, a second contingent of guards spilling onto the platform, their shouts ringing across the boiling lake in a jumbled mess. Warden Akumo stood amongst them, his face visibly red even from afar, his state of panic sparking something warm in Zuko’s chest. 

That feeling died when he caught sight of what the guards carried with them. 

Manhandled between four men, a massive steel saw winked in the sunlight, its teeth jagged and sharp. The guards lifted it over the cable spool, placing it with haste over the receding line. 

“They’re going to cut the line!” Suki gasped in realization, knuckles turning white where she clutched the window.

Zuko whirled towards the opposite end of the car, eyeing the craggy landing that was slowly getting closer. “We can make it,” he insisted. “The cables are too thick, they’ll never be able to saw through them in time.” Suki’s large eyes found his and he thought, _Please, please let us make it._ He couldn’t stomach the thought that he had offered her freedom and given her death.

Hakoda, sounding alarmed for the first time since Zuko had met him, said, “I hope you’re right.”

The next few minutes across the lake passed in agony. The Warden’s shouts grew dimmer as they approached the opposite side of the volcano but their car grew increasingly unsteady as the guards continued to work with the saw, making the gondola lurch precariously. Every time it jolted, Zuko closed his eyes, certain he was about to meet the boiling waters below. The platform was growing steadily closer, only but a few meters from them when shouts erupted from the guards. Zuko didn’t even have time to turn; there came a massive pop, like a cannon being fired, and then one of the lines holding them aloft rippled, its frayed end flying from the receiving platform and over the lake.

Zuko cried out as the gondola car shifted and faltered, it’s entire right side collapsing. Suki grabbed at him, her hand clutching his sleeve as the floor fell from beneath their feet. Grappling at the heated metal, all of the air left his lungs as they crashed into the wall, dangling over the boiling lake. Hakoda hit the space next to them, his eyes large as he quickly scrambled away from the open window. Zuko carefully got to his feet, forcing himself not to look down, instead focusing on the narrow section of wall just below the gondola’s windows that they could stand on. Suki’s breathing was loud in his good ear, her face white with terror. Trying to ignore his own shaking, Zuko squeezed her hand.

 _We’re going to make it,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Instead, he looked between her and Hakoda. “As soon as we’re close enough to the landing we have to jump. They could cut through the other line at any moment.”

Suki, the determination he’d come to value from her nearly vanished from her wide eyes, said, “Even if we make it, we don’t have any means of travel or anywhere to go.”

“There must be a boat or a ship of some kind,” Zuko said, “Even if it’s not the ferry from the mainland, the Warden is likely to have one for personal use. We’ll find it.”

Hakoda brandished his hand as if just remembering something. “I saw another ship when I was being brought in. It was small, not made for long voyages, but I bet we can find it.”

Zuko nodded and though she didn’t look any less terrified, Suki said nothing else. It was probably hopeless, a dark, cynical part of him thought, but the idea was nice to cling to, especially as they were only inches from tilting to their death.

The car gave another jolt and Zuko’s stomach was in his throat as he nearly lost his balance. He didn’t dare turn around or even move, not wanting to encourage the unsteady car to list any further. Glancing up, he could’ve cried in relief when he saw they were almost to the landing.

Shuffling to the furthest end of the gondola, they waited in tense silence, the alarms still ringing behind them. Suki edged toward the platform first, hands flexing at her sides. Backing up as much as she could, she made a running leap, clearing the gap easily. She rolled as she hit the ground, curled in on herself tightly. Panting, her eyes grew wide as she rose, gaze focused on something behind them. “Hurry, they’ve almost managed to cut the other line!”

Unable to look for himself, Zuko took a steadying breath and hurled himself across the gap. His feet had just hit the platform when another cannon-like pop sounded. Whirling around, he gaped in horror as the cable went slack, the gondola car going with it. Hakoda leaped but he wasn’t quite fast enough—his foot slipped on the metal lip of the landing, his body hitting the ground with a terrible thud. He scrambled at the caldera’s edge, just barely managing to catch himself, fingers grasping at the slick metal. Suki darted forward, grasping his forearm, entire body straining as she struggled, nearly dragged over the edge herself by the man’s weight. “Zuko!”

Jolted from his stupor, Zuko flung himself to the ground, grabbing Hakoda’s free arm. Together, he and Suki hauled the man over the edge, both immediately collapsing once he’d cleared the lip. Zuko rolled over just as Hakoda panted out a haggard, _“Thank you.”_ Sitting on his heels, the water tribesman shoved a trembling hand through his hair, glancing over the edge of the landing, looking ill. “Are you two alright?”

Still trembling, Zuko managed to echo Suki’s acknowledgment. He shoved himself up, saying almost in a daze, “We need to...we need to find a way off this island. Quickly.”

Hakoda and Suki didn’t argue, the three of them taking off at a brisk jog. The platform may have looked almost exactly the same as its sister across the lake but Zuko still had no idea where he was going. He could barely remember the day he’d been brought to the prison, had only the faintest memories of black sand and mountains, of how thin and smothering the air had seemed. They ignored the elevator, gravity pulling them down the side of the volcano far faster as they ran. All around, lush green vegetation whipped past, the open ocean seeming impossibly far from so high up. The vast blue expanse grew closer and closer the further they descended, Zuko almost unable to believe his ears at the sound of breaking waves and sea birds.

His legs burned when they finally reached the bottom of the volcano’s slopes, a cramp in his side making each breath terribly painful. Neither Suki nor Hakoda looked much better. Hands on his knees, Hakoda managed to get out, “I didn’t—I didn’t get a good look at the other boat but it was heading towards the eastern side of the island. We could try there.”

Zuko opened his mouth to answer but a woman’s voice cut through the morning air; “Over here!”

The woman, dressed in a guard’s uniform, ran at them, palms extended. Zuko threw himself in front of Suki just as a wall of fire shot towards them. He blocked the blast, parting the flames with a snarl. The guard looked shocked, her mouth dropping open at the sight of him, but in an instant the surprise was replaced with determination. She held her ground as her comrades fanned around them, open palms thrust forward. His back pressed to Hakoda and Suki’s, Zuko glared at the surrounding guards, all thoughts of blackened bodies shoved far, far away. _This is no time for cowardice,_ he told himself, palms itching. _No time for_ **_weakness_** _._

There was a moment of pause, long enough for him to inhale slowly through his nose, then every guard in the clearing was blasting flames at them, a roaring inferno that sent his skin tingling with heat. Zuko moved without thinking, engulfing himself, Suki, and Hakoda in a tight ball of raw fire, losing all sight of the guards as their world turned red, the earth scorched beneath them. His ears rang as the flames died, the guards rushing them at the moment they’d been blinded.

Fighting was something he’d been doing since the day he’d first drawn breath, whether it had been for his mother’s love, his father’s favor, or even the right to his own existence—tearing through the guards felt no different. He lost himself in it, seeing Isao, Hikaru, the Warden, every guard or officer who’d ever abused their own power. It was as much for himself as it was for every other inmate he’d ever seen taken advantage of or beaten down. For Suki and Hakoda behind him, for Guang, Han, and Ichiro, for the scars on his back and the pain in his chest that would never abate. 

When it was over and he’d had long enough to take in the scene, to realize what he’d done, he whirled away from the carnage, breath shuddering between his lips in short gasps, nausea and memories suddenly unavoidable. Suki stood beside him, soot smeared across her pale cheeks, blood on her knuckles, a stolen dagger in her free hand coated red.

She said nothing about his weakened state. “Come on,” she murmured. “There will be more coming soon.”

Hakoda did not speak a word to him as they ran from the smoking, silent clearing. Zuko told himself it was for the best, that maybe the water tribesman was finally seeing him for what he truly was. 

Even as they put more and more distance between themselves and the caldera, Zuko could still hear the prison alarms going off with every shift of the breeze. The jungle undergrowth passed in a blur, and while it might’ve been his panic-addled mind desperate for something to grasp at other than fear, he couldn’t help but notice how vibrant everything seemed. He’d grown so used to the stifling temperatures of the Boiling Rock that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to inhale and not feel dampness in his lungs. It was still hot, still humid, but it wasn’t the near-insufferable heat he’d grown accustomed to. The breeze carried the faintest chill even beneath the dense forest canopy, the smell of salty brine a welcome change from sulfur. The plants and greenery all around them were ones he recognized—native Fire Nation flora he never thought he’d miss. He held out a hand as they moved, letting the vegetation pass through his fingers. Feeling overwhelmed, he barely managed to swallow around the lump in his throat.

In no time at all, they reached the easternmost shore of the island, and sure enough, a dock stretched over the water, a small nondescript ship bobbing at its side. Hakoda took the lead as they crept towards a small, single-story building beside the shore, built neatly atop black stone. The only movement visible was that of the waves but Zuko didn’t believe for a moment that meant the place was abandoned.

Huddled in the bushes, Hakoda murmured, “Wait here.”

Suki waited until the man was out of sight before she whispered, “Where’s he from again?”

“Water Tribe,” Zuko grunted, wiping at the sweat that threatened to fall into his eyes. 

“More specifically,” she shot him a sharp glance. “North or South?”

“South.”

She frowned, staring in the direction the water tribesman had disappeared, brows drawn together. They didn’t speak on it any further; a window exploded outwards as a black and red clad body tumbled out, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Leaping from their hiding place and sprinting towards the building, Zuko and Suki made it to the door just in time for Hakoda to emerge, smiling despite the blood running freely from a fresh cut above his brow. “Let’s go.”

Their feet were loud on the wooden deck, Zuko’s heart once again beginning to pound in his ears as Hakoda leaped from the dock with ease, beginning to inspect the vessel. He made quick work of the boat, instructing Zuko and Suki on which ropes to pull and when, the orders falling from him with confidence and certainty. It didn’t seem to matter that it was Fire Nation made—Hakoda knew what to do and for that Zuko was grateful.

Agni, the spirits, _someone_ must have been on their side as the wind began to pick up, lifting their sail and carrying them from that horrid place. Zuko watched it get smaller and smaller, the ghost of sirens on the wind getting fainter the further the waves carried them.

“Where to?” Hakoda called, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Not the Fire Nation,” Suki said, wiping her new dagger clean on her shirt.

“No,” Zuko agreed, even though a pang went through him. “This—” he ran his fingers along the edge of the boat, recalling the world maps he’d been forced to study when he was younger, “—probably couldn’t stand a journey as far as the Fire Nation, or the Earth Kingdom for that matter.”

Hakoda’s smile faded a little. “Quite the mind you have for geography.” When Zuko didn't reply, he asked, “Where does that leave?”

“The Skypeaks,” Zuko said, avoiding looking at the water tribesman. “A mountain range not far north from here."

"Somewhere so close will be the first place the Warden sends a search party after us," Hakoda said, grim.

Zuko nodded.

Silence fell over them. After a long moment, Suki asked softly, “What if they catch us?”

“It won’t come to that,” Hakoda said, sounding so certain Zuko almost believed him. He wanted to, he truly did, but he'd learned false hope didn't get anyone very far. He knew what he would do if he ever found himself back in the Warden's clutches. Or his father's, for that matter. It was what he should’ve done the moment he’d been banished, when he’d awoken on that Agni-forsaken ship and discovered the only person left who might’ve cared about him hadn’t actually cared at all.

Only when the Boiling Rock was a speck on the horizon did Zuko allow himself to relax. Even from such a distance, steam rose from the caldera’s mouth, unmistakable from the surrounding mountains. He stared at it a moment longer, thinking of other mountains, another range of sleeping volcanoes, ones just as green and lush. Taking a deep breath, he turned away, facing the open water before them, reminding himself home wasn’t something worth thinking about. 

〜〜〜

Their journey on the boat was rocky, the Skypeak mountain ranges rising steadily on the horizon. Hakoda steered effortlessly, looking so at ease he was almost a different man. More than once Zuko looked up and found him halfway turned where he commanded the rudder, their journey forward but his eyes in a different place. Suki, on the other hand, did not take well to being on the water, spending much of the time hanging over the side of the prow, her thin shoulders heaving. Zuko himself felt sick with every slosh of the waves but didn’t have enough left in his stomach to even dry heave. He opted to sit beside her, judging her the least likely of his two companions to try and speak to him, one hand awkwardly holding her hair.

Night had nearly fallen by the time the Skypeaks came into full view. Ancient, towering mountains far steeper than any volcano stood proudly, their snowy tips white and dusty from a distance. The sunset, the first proper one Zuko had seen in far too long, lit the horizon orange, the cloud-filled sky alight with shades of red, purple, and pink. He stared in awe, the warmth of Agni fading as she sank below the skyline, the moon replacing her yellow face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen something so beautiful.

Suki was out of their boat the moment they ran aground. She leaped over the side with a joyous laugh, the water at her waist. She grinned at Zuko, the smile making her look years younger. “Come on!”

Sighing, he climbed out after her, startled by the sudden chill as he dropped into the water. It was nothing like the cooler, where the cold had sapped away all strength, stealing any ability to move or speak. He felt himself smiling, the feeling odd. Suki giggled, cupping her hands and suddenly flinging water at him. He sputtered, momentarily shocked, then returned the splash with one of his own. She shrieked, laughing as she scrambled further away from the shore. He chased her, the ocean washing away any remnants of ash and blood, the only physical reminder of their time imprisoned being the clothes and scars they wore. Distantly, Zuko was aware of Hakoda climbing from the boat, hauling it to shore, but just for a moment, he allowed himself to forget it all, to just feel the cool water on his skin, to enjoy the sounds of Suki’s laughter.

“I yield, I yield,” Suki finally panted, still smiling. Zuko, equally out of breath, couldn’t help but return her grin. They were both completely soaked from head to toe as they trudged to shore tiredly, the sky almost entirely dark when they finally emerged from the water. It reminded Zuko of family vacations at Ember Island, of Lu Ten and Azula’s laughter ringing in his ears as they played beneath Agni’s watching gaze for hours, until their skin reddened and peeled.

He was still thinking of them as Hakoda sat next to him on the sand, the boat not too far away. “We should really keep moving,” the water tribesman said, and Zuko knew he was right. “We want to be far away from these shores in the event that we've been followed.”

Suki sighed on his other side, washed silver in the moonlight. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Zuko said softly, picking up a handful of sand and letting the soft granules sift through his fingers. “We...we saved each other.”

She nodded, patting his knee. Hakoda made a soft sound in agreement, and Zuko finally looked up at him, finding the man’s gaze stuck on where Suki’s hand lay. Face hot, Zuko stood abruptly. “We should get going,” he said, brushing sand from his hands, flustered. “Like you were saying.”

Hakoda nodded, lips twitching into a smile. Suki seemed oblivious to Zuko’s feelings of awkwardness as she started towards the treeline. “I hope we come across some kind of food soon, I’m starving. Anything would be better than that plain congee.”

〜〜〜

They did indeed come across a village, one only a few miles from the place they had landed along the shore. Even though being discovered by the Warden was the last thing any of them wanted, they knew better than to risk their luck by venturing into the Skypeaks without supplies. The small fishing town was quite sorry, with only two docks that stretched haphazardly out into the bay, a few rickety boats nestled at their sides.

Hakoda hesitated just outside the village limits, the smattering of trees around them still providing enough cover that they could probably go unseen. “Wait, wait, we can’t all just walk in there dressed the way we are.” 

Zuko ran a hand over his face, wondering why he ever thought it was a good idea to skip his dinner the previous day. On top of that, the exhaustion of having not slept a wink through the night was finally catching up to him, dragging his eyelids down and making his brain feel sluggish. The hunger was a sharp reminder that they couldn’t rest yet. “You’re right. They’ll know instantly where we’re coming from.”

Suki looked determined. “I can do it.”

Thinking of Seiji, of the first man he’d ever killed, in some dark nameless alley so long ago, Zuko felt a surge of protectiveness. “It might not be safe.”

She raised a defiant eyebrow but before she could say anything, Hakoda stood up straight, voice clear and authoritative. “I’ll go. It’s not for debate.”

Zuko and Suki remained quiet, neither quite willing to argue. They waited for what felt like forever, the bright face of the moon peering down at them, their only source of light. Finally, Hakoda’s large form hurried around the side of the closest building, a large sack slung over one shoulder.

“Hurry,” he whispered, ushering them along through the dark, his words nearly lost by the sounds of the waves. “I wasn’t spotted but I doubt these won’t be missed.”

They veered away from the beach, traveling through the scraggy underbrush without conversation. The moon was their only source of light as they ventured into the mountains, the grass and forest vegetation giving way to gravel and sprigs of tough, dry weeds. The air grew thin the further up they climbed, cool where the Boiling Rock had been suffocating. With nightfall and no trees to block the wind, the air quickly grew almost uncomfortably cold. Even with his damp clothes, Zuko didn’t necessarily mind it but Suki kept rubbing her hands together, her arms spotted with gooseflesh. 

“Here,” Hakoda finally said, when the moon was at its highest. He dropped the sack of pilfered goods to the ground. Zuko sank down beside it, his aching feet grateful for the reprieve. “We can sleep here tonight and continue tomorrow. I didn’t find too much, the pickings were slim, but we’ll be able to get by for a while if we’re careful.”

Suki settled beside the bag, pulling it open and rummaging through the insides. She pulled out three thin blankets, a few salted fish, and two overripe figs. Itching for something to do, Zuko wandered around the underbrush of the surrounding area, collecting whatever dried twigs he could find. His choices were limited and he brought them back to the others wordlessly. It took nothing to get the fire started, coaxing the tiny flames to life amongst the twigs as he suppressed a shudder. It would probably die the moment he fell asleep but for now it was enough. 

They ate in what Zuko felt was fairly stilted silence, the only sound crying cicadas and night animals, none of them knowing how to relate to this new dynamic.

Hakoda broke the quiet first. He offered Suki a small smile. “I don’t think I ever introduced myself. My name is Hakoda.”

“Suki,” she said, nibbling on her fish. “Though I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Hakoda glanced at Zuko, expression amused. “Oh?”

She nodded. “Yes, I...You’re from the Southern Water Tribe, aren’t you?”

The man smiled, pride in his blue gaze. “I am indeed.”

Suki seemed to straighten. “Some kids came to my village, a few months before my arrest. They were traveling with the avatar—”

All of the air seemed to leave Hakoda at once. Zuko thought incredulously, _The avatar?_ The water tribesman gasped softly, mouth falling open.“Did you meet them? Katara and Sokka?”

“I did,” Suki grinned, looking triumphant. “I saw them again in Ba Sing Se not too long after we first met.” Her smile fell. “They had lost their air bison—” _Air bison?_ “—and were trying to find a way into the city. I escorted them through the Serpent’s Pass but couldn’t stay.” She tilted her head. “Sokka always talked about his father but never gave me his name. He said he’d left to fight in the war when he and Katara were little, that he missed him terribly.” Hakoda was silent, his eyes bright in the light of the fire. “You’re him, aren’t you? Their father?”

Lost but recognizing it wasn’t his place to intrude, Zuko glanced back and forth between Suki and Hakoda, unsure what to do. Hakoda nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes.”

Suki nodded. “I thought so. Katara looks just like you.”

“I saw them just before my own arrest,” Hakoda said, voice thick. “We…” He glanced at Zuko then quickly away. “We organized and led an attack on the Fire Nation capital during a solar eclipse. The avatar was meant to find the Fire Lord and destroy him but fate was not on our side. We barely made it out with our lives.”

Zuko breathed in shallowly, feeling as though he was back on the gondola, the ground threatening to fall from beneath his feet once more.

“And they...were they okay?” Suki asked, sounding very small. 

"When I last saw them, they were escaping safely on the boy's bison,” Hakoda said gently, “Not many of us made it out of the city but we knew the avatar and the rest of the children needed to escape.” He looked down at his hands. “They are our only hope for ending this war.”

Zuko finally dared to speak. “You said...you said your children are with the avatar.” Hakoda nodded and Zuko frowned, suddenly feeling indignant. “That’s not possible, the avatar cycle was broken. It’s nothing but a myth, a tale for children and fanatics.”

“I’d heard the rumors myself, long before I reunited with my children,” Hakoda said carefully. “I didn’t quite believe them either but the boy truly is the avatar. An airbender, at that, all but twelve years old.”

“That’s not possible,” Zuko said plainly, matter of fact. “The airbenders—” He cut himself off, not liking the way Suki and Hakoda were looking at him.

“It’s a strange story,” Suki said finally, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Something about an iceberg, Sokka wasn’t making much sense. But Aang _is_ the avatar, I’ve seen it.” Hakoda hummed in agreement and Zuko stared in stunned silence at the fire.

“And,” he licked his lips, mind whirling, “the day of the eclipse, you said you led an attack on the Fire Nation?”

Again, Hakoda nodded. “Firebenders lost all ability to bend, for a short window of time. It was the closest we’ve ever gotten to a major victory against the Fire Nation.”

Chilled, Zuko barely breathed as he asked, “How far did you…”

“My men and I made it to the upper ring of the city,” Hakoda said, the fire casting shadows across his lined face. He was watching Zuko with a strange look. “The avatar, my boy, and an earthbender girl went alone to find the Fire Lord but they were unsuccessful. Ozai must have known about our plans, for the entire city was abandoned.”

“Did they make it to the Royal Palace?”

The line reappeared between Hakoda’s brows, confusion drawing them together. “To my knowledge, our men didn't make it that far. There was a secret bunker somewhere beneath the city that the avatar infiltrated, I believe, but I was injured at some point in the fight. I couldn’t say for certain.”

Troubled, Zuko fell silent, hating the feeling of his companions’ eyes on him. Muttering something about finding more kindling, he all but stumbled from their campsite, walking until he could no longer hear Suki and Hakoda’s voices behind him, then a little further in case his hearing was playing tricks on him.

 _The avatar,_ he thought, still shocked. _Born from airbenders._ The air nomads had been the first casualties of Sozin’s war against the world, the weakest of the other nations and the easiest to snuff out. The notion that some had survived, even if just one of them, sent a shiver down his spine. Sozin had failed, it was now painfully evident, in both his mission to wipe out the air nation and break the avatar cycle. _The avatar,_ he thought again, a legend for soft-hearted fools who believed in a kinder world, now sprung to life from an iceberg? It didn’t make any kind of sense. And this boy—a literal child by the sounds of it—was meant to face the Fire Lord and destroy him.

Suddenly feeling ill, Zuko fell to his knees, vomiting up the few bites he’d taken before their conversation. He heaved until tears drew at his eyes, ragged, awful sobs wracking him at the thought of a mere child meant to end his father’s life. _Had father been there the day of the eclipse,_ he wondered, _had Azula? Uncle?_ His stricken mind conjured images of earthen boulders falling from the sky, destroying the only home Zuko had ever known, invaders justified in their fury running rampant through the Palace halls. If their siege had been unsuccessful then surely not. Surely the young avatar would be dead.

Wiping at his mouth with the back of a hand, Zuko took a few moments to breathe and steady himself before kicking dirt over the mess he’d made. Resuming his search for firewood and trying to avoid all thoughts of children's stories, he reminded himself that, if anything, at least he was no longer trapped in the belly of a volcano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the delay!!! I’ve been working practically full time lately so this update is not as long as I would like but this felt like a good place to leave things before we get to the gang. Also, random life update, my uni starts up again in a week so I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have. Ideally, I want to update this every two weeks!! As always, your support means the world and I love you all so much <33


	6. Chapter 6

Five days into their hike, they stumbled upon what appeared to be a village, though calling it such was a bit generous in Zuko’s opinion.

“I had no idea people once lived in the Skypeaks,” Suki commented as they picked their way through the hollowed-out, desolate little place. They had passed through a deep ravine the evening before, crossing the mountain foothills when they’d found themselves in the bottom of a canyon, its walls as smooth as the marble floors Zuko had grown up playing on. The dry riverbed was exceptionally deep, so deep that soon they had no choice but to continue forward, for rock rose up, up, up around them, long horizontal layers of creams, browns, and reds layering atop one another, guiding their way. In front of them, a few unidentifiable hollows were carved into the canyon walls, by hand it seemed, if the jagged, uneven pick marks were to be believed. They stuck from the otherwise smooth rock like an eagle-hawk amongst sea puffins. 

The interiors of the little hollows were utterly bare, whatever thatched fronts that had been constructed succumbing to the elements long ago, their ceilings just high enough to stand up fully beneath. Remains of woven textiles and crumbling wood turned to dust beneath their feet, clouding the air as they moved through the tight canyon. Zuko cursed as he put his foot through a wooden basket, the material splintering away into nothing as though made of paper. He shook himself free, grunting, “This territory was once part of the Air Nation. The only reason it’s remained untouched is because it’s so uninhabitable. Nothing worthwhile grows, there’s no easily accessible water source, the altitude is unforgiving. It’s of no use to anyone.”

Hakoda stopped, examining what appeared to be the collapsed remnants of a table. He brushed his fingers over the single chair still in one piece. “Someone tried to make a life here.”

“Air nomad survivors, maybe,” Suki guessed, gazing at the ruins sadly. “I wonder what happened to them.”

Gazing at the dilapidated remains, Zuko didn’t try to guess.

“We could stop here for the night,” Hakoda suggested softly, arm dropping to his side. “It’ll be dark soon and this is likely the only place we’ll find for shelter.” 

Suki agreed but Zuko said nothing, the idea of sleeping where long-dead air nomads might’ve once taken up residence making his skin crawl. Night fell quickly, engulfing the canyon’s belly in darkness. Pale moonlight filtered from above, doing little to disperse the shadows. Suki went to investigate the remains of the stone alcoves while Zuko stood next to the abandoned table for a long moment, wondering if the powdery splinters would hold a fire, if it was somehow wrong to even try. He sighed, clearing a space on the ground before stacking the furniture remains haphazardly together.

The dry kindling took to a flame easily, the sudden fire casting long shadows across the rock walls and floor. Zuko settled beside it, grateful for its warmth, the breeze that rushed through the ancient riverbed carrying the biting chill of the Skypeaks. Across from him, Hakoda dug through what remained of their supplies.

“We have enough water for another week at most,” the man said, expression half-hidden in the dark. He didn’t _sound_ angry but Zuko didn’t feel inclined to get any closer to him. “Maybe enough food for a little while longer if we’re careful.”

“We’ll make do,” Zuko replied, glancing in the direction Suki had disappeared. This was the most Hakoda had spoken to him since the start of their journey. He didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he thought maybe the man hadn’t quite forgotten the smoldering clearing they’d left behind at the Boiling Rock. 

Suki’s light footsteps crunched through the gravel on Zuko’s right and he shifted to make room for her beside the fire. She settled down slowly, one of their tattered blankets around her shoulders. “It’s so beautiful here.” Zuko followed her gaze skywards, the breeze toying with his hair, lifting gooseflesh along his alarms. The stars were just visible through the winding canyon ceiling, a river of black studded with a million pinpoints of light. It _was_ beautiful, in some distant, unobtainable way. It made him feel small.

Hakoda dropped their slowly shrinking sack to the ground. “We need a plan. We were lucky to have found this place for the night but we can’t stay here forever. We’ll need more supplies eventually.” _We can’t keep wandering,_ he didn’t say, but it hung in the air regardless.

“How far is it to the coast?” Suki nudged Zuko with her elbow.

He thought about it, trying to envision the maps he’d poured over as a child. “Maybe a week’s journey on foot, if not more. If we keep going east we should find the Jamyang Channel.” Azula had been the one with a mind for maps and strategy, able to recall names and distances in a heartbeat when prompted. Zuko had tried but he’d never been too good at it, earning more than a few slaps from his instructors for his stupidity. “I think it empties into the Tsering Sea but I could be wrong.”

“You’ve been right so far,” Suki said, sounding so sure in his abilities it left him feeling a little confused.

He wanted to argue but Hakoda asked suddenly, “And how far to the Western Air Temple?”

Zuko scoffed. “Why?”

“It’s not far from the Fire Nation and is probably undisturbed...after facing defeat at the Capital it seems a likely place Aang might seek refuge. It would be familiar to him.”

Zuko stared at him a moment longer, thoughts awhirl. The air temples, to his knowledge, were completely abandoned, so far removed from the minds of men that they were home to only ghosts, no longer suitable even for the spirits. It was a terrible notion, he thought, dread a cold weight in his belly, that the first place marked by the horrors wrought from Sozin’s line might be a place the avatar sought refuge.

“Maybe we try the Earth Kingdom instead,” he suggested, shifting uneasily.

“Ba Sing Se fell months ago,” Hakoda said carefully, eyeing him from across the fire. Zuko dropped his gaze in discomfort, recalling the morning Warden Akumo had shared the news of the city’s conquering. Cheers had erupted through the guards and officers, the inmates’ chores even relaxed for the day in celebration. Zuko had felt a mix of shock and elation at the pronouncement. He had believed, when he was much, much younger, that Iroh would be the one to topple the walls of the Impenetrable City, if only for the atrocities Lu Ten had suffered behind them. He had prayed for it even, long after Uncle had returned to the Caldera, because didn’t Lu Ten deserve justice? Didn’t his murderers deserve to meet their end? Now, he only felt cold, the warmth of the fire doing very little to bring life back to his numb fingertips. He was no longer sure what justice meant nor who deserved it more; his cousin or the people defending their last stronghold against invaders. “It’s been under Fire Nation occupancy since the day the princess nearly killed the avatar. She’s established forces in almost every major city from Chameleon Bay to the Mo Ce Sea, even taken great measures to dismantle what remains of the Earth King’s forces. It is perhaps the most dangerous place we could possibly seek asylum.”

Zuko’s breath caught, vision tunneling in shock. He hadn’t heard...how could she have—? He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. “The princess?”

Hakoda nodded, expression grim. “Princess Azula is one of the most formidable assets the Fire Lord has. She staged a coup from the inside of Ba Sing Se, turning the Dai Li to her side. Spirits, she can’t be older than either of you and she’s managed to topple nations.”

“She’s been a scourge upon the Earth Kingdom, leaving a flaming trail of destruction everywhere she’s gone in her attempt to capture Aang,” Suki said stiffly while Zuko hunched in on himself, stomach sinking at the thought of his sister doing what the entire world had thought impossible, what their Uncle had failed to do. She had always been determined, had to have been in order to survive under their father’s watchful eye. She was certainly capable, he realized, sick. “But it’s not like she’s done this all alone—she had help, plus the Dai Li was already corrupt, King Kuei a puppet of their own making. Azula was smart enough to see that and conned her way into the city. She’s as much a homicidal maniac as all the rest of her family, only far craftier.”

_All the rest of her family._ Zuko winced, a small sound escaping him before he could bite it back. 

Suki mistook the look on his face. She scoffed, an ugly sound. “I don’t think I’m being too harsh. The princess attacked me and my warriors while we were on a mission. Ambushed us really. We stood our ground but we were no match, I hate to admit. _She_ sent me to the Boiling Rock.”

_We have that in common,_ he thought, deeply troubled. Swallowing again, he rasped in confusion, “Your warriors?”

“The Kyoshi Warriors,” she sat up a little straighter, pride shining in her eyes. “We were founded by Avatar Kyoshi herself and fight in her memory to protect our village and, more recently, the Earth Kingdom.” Deflating a little, Suki’s mouth pressed into a flat line as her hands curled into fists where they rested in her lap. “I’d love to face her again, in a fair fight. Maybe I’d find out where she sent everyone else.” Her voice trailed off, eyes stuck on the glowing embers of their fire. 

Azula didn’t know the meaning of a fair fight, he thought to himself, thinking of the games they’d played when they were little, her need even then to bend the rules to her own liking. He quickly shook himself from those thoughts, mind jumbled as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “You said she had help.” He could feel Hakoda’s eyes boring into him as he spoke yet he was unable to stop. He needed answers. “That she wasn’t alone.”

“She had two friends,” Suki said, gaze far away. “One was skilled with knives, the other fought in a way I’d never seen before. She could strike you at just the right spot and suddenly you couldn’t lift your arm. It was incredible and horrible. We didn’t stand a chance.”

_Mai, Ty Lee,_ some part of his mind supplied, summoning vague memories of two little girls Azula had met in school, begrudging participants in her little games. He didn’t get to dwell on it long; Suki brought her legs up, wrapping her arms about her shins as she rested her chin atop her knees. She stared into the fire, light dancing across her cheeks as she whispered, “I was so sure I was going to die at the Boiling Rock. I never thought...I never thought I’d get a chance to walk free.” Their eyes met, her gaze hard. “I’m not going to waste it.”

“We’re not going to,” Hakoda said firmly, as steady as iron. “We owe it to every one of our allies who no longer stands with us, to the generations of innocents whose lives will never be the same.” He looked up briefly, taking in the stars. Zuko found himself wondering if they were constellations he recognized or if he was thinking of different stars, a different sky. When he dragged his gaze down, Zuko met it, determined not to look away. “I will see you both to the air temple, and depending on what we find there, I will either continue on with you or travel to the Earth Kingdom.”

“Didn’t we just establish that’s not a place we want to be right now?” Zuko sneered, frustration rising in his chest. 

Hakoda regarded him calmly, infuriatingly steady. “Despite the power the avatar possesses, he’s still just a boy. The Fire Nation nearly succeeded in killing him once already, he is not indestructible or without weaknesses. I can’t speak for whatever plans Avatar Aang may have presently but the Fire Lord will be expecting another attempt on his life no matter what. This war is far from over and we haven’t seen our last fight yet. If Aang is at the air temple, you two will remain with him while I try to find us allies.”

Zuko snorted dubiously. “And _you_ have allies in the Earth Kingdom?”

The water tribesman’s mouth twitched as though he were trying not to smile, as if he knew something Zuko didn’t, which was entirely likely. “I’ve managed to make my way onto land at least a few times over the years, you know.”

Zuko grunted something unintelligible, face heating up. He hated not knowing what everyone around him knew, hated that he couldn’t simply ask them to explain without arousing too much suspicion or inciting questions of their own. “Fine,” he all but spit, not sure why he was so upset. “So we get to the air temple and then what? Just hope that the avatar happens to be there?”

“Aang is the hope so many people lost,” Suki insisted, so earnest Zuko felt a pang for ever thinking her foolish. “Even if the chances of him being at the temple are slim, we have to try.”

“Besides,” Hakoda's voice was firm, as immovable as the ocean as he glanced up, hands clasped between his knees. “The boy needs a firebending teacher.”

A ragged laugh pulled itself from between Zuko’s lips and he didn’t even care that suddenly both Hakoda and Suki were staring at him as though _he_ were the one with ludicrous ideas. He sobered as they continued to watch him, crying, “You can’t be serious!”

“Aang is by no means a master of earth or water but he has enough of a grasp on each of the other three elements for the time being. Before the invasion of the Capital he had yet to produce even the smallest of flames. There is no time for us to find someone else.” The water tribesman’s gaze was measured, his tone turning far more stern than it had so far. He was speaking like a commander, not the man who had told him stories in the dark like he was some frightened child.

_Okay then,_ he thought, anger rising. _Fine._ He lifted his chin, meeting the man’s gaze squarely. “I can’t.”

Hakoda’s eyes flashed before he took a deep breath, failing to hide his frustration. “You’re a skilled bender, you’ve clearly had training of your own. Why not?”

“I…” Ursa, Ichiro, the guards they’d met in their escape—all people of his own nation, all bystanders in a war they’d been born into, same as Zuko. Firebending was destruction, was death, and he wanted no part in passing on its practice. Hakoda should’ve understood. He’d lost his wife to firebenders, after all. “Firebending isn’t like any of the other elements,” he said, trying not to let his voice waver. Hakoda needed him to train the avatar, he tried to remind himself, he _wouldn’t_ attack him, even though Zuko was about to give him a very good reason to. “It’s volatile and unwieldy. If you lose control, you’re as likely to burn yourself as you are everyone around you. You can’t beat a fire into submission like you can the earth, you can’t learn to divert it or contain it like you can water. It’s an all-consuming plague my people have brought to every shore of this world and I will not be a part of that any longer.”

The fire popped in the following hush, the logs shifting and sending sparks into the night air. Zuko continued to meet Hakoda’s gaze unflinchingly even as still-smoking ash floated down around them, cooling as they drifted to the earth. The man’s shoulders were tight, a muscle in his jaw ticking as they glared at each other. It scared Zuko, to see that look on the water tribesman’s face, reminded him far too much of someone else who’d set unreasonably high expectations for him, but he was tired of cowering.

He took a breath to speak but Suki was suddenly on her feet, blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. She yawned, glancing rather pointedly at Zuko. “Not that this hasn’t been a fun chat but I think I’m going to bed. We still have a long way to go to the air temple and we all need our rest if we want to make any sort of progress tomorrow.” She cut her eyes at him again, body angled just right so Hakoda probably couldn’t see her face. “I think this is a discussion we can continue in the morning.”

Zuko said nothing, remaining rooted in place, his mind made up. Suki sighed, hesitating a moment longer before muttering goodnight in defeat and making her way to the canyon hollows. Hakoda stared at him in the long silence that followed, assessing, scrutinizing. He met it with a scowl, determined not to shrink away.

“Your footwork is impeccable, you know,” the man said eventually, voice low. He seemed to have lost some of his displeasure but Zuko didn’t trust it couldn’t come rushing back. Hakoda had been kind so far but that didn’t mean much. “I trained the young men of my tribe for years, long before I set off from my village shores. Many of them were just like you; resilient and stubborn, certain they knew better despite their lack of experience. They didn’t know the value of a proper stance and how it might save your life.”

Zuko remained quiet, anger humming just below his skin, sending his palms and forearms tingling.

“You’ve been trained, that much is clear. Your bending is a little unsteady but there is a surety in your movements, the remnants of katas and drills. You don’t speak as though you’re low born and you seem to have an education far beyond what a commoner might receive, yet there are gaps in what you know and don’t know about the present world’s affairs. Not to mention,” Zuko found himself flinching as though he’d been struck. The furrow was back between Hakoda’s brows, no hint of a smile on his often open face. “I found you in the gullet of a hellhole meant for prisoners of war.” When Zuko remained mute, the man sighed, brushing a hand through his hair, his exhaustion evident. “I won’t pry or beg for your confidence but what little you’ve shared doesn’t paint much of a picture, Zuko. It leaves too much to the imagination and I can’t travel with someone who refuses to trust me. Who _I_ can’t trust.”

“I trust you,” Zuko said sharply, surprised by how much he meant it.

Hakoda looked him over, shaking his head slowly. “I wish I could say the same, son. Normally, I might leave it well alone, say a man’s business is his own, but we have passed the point of keeping up walls. I want to trust you, I do. But I can’t do that if you are determined to keep yourself secluded. Secrets often help no one but our enemies.”

Zuko exhaled shakily, stomach twisting itself into knots. _Son_. Hakoda didn’t know what that meant, certainly wouldn’t be calling him such a thing if he knew who Zuko really was. But the man was watching him still, waiting.

“I was born at the Fire Nation capital beneath the sliver of a new moon,” he heard himself whisper, as though it were someone else speaking. And maybe it was—the title of prince had been stripped from him the moment he’d fallen to his knees during his Agni Kai, the moment Ozai had cupped flames against his face and seared into him a reminder of his many disappointments and failings. He hadn’t been the person he was before then in a very long time. He kept talking, the words spilling from him like blood from an open wound; “My father was certain it meant I would never be a bender, for Agni had not been awake to breathe fire into my lungs, to bless me with her spark. I think that must have been the moment he decided he hated me. He gave me so many tutors over the years but I still struggled to learn even the most basic of forms.” He shuddered, remembering too many days in the weeks after Ursa’s execution where he’d been unable to draw on his chi, too many nights he’d gone to bed hungry, his ineptitude boundless. “It was pointless."

“You had no control over your birth,” Hakoda said, body gone rigid where he sat.

“No. But I did have control over myself. I still wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart or fast enough, still never amounted to anything. I was an embarrassment to our family,” Zuko shoved at his burning eyes with a palm, hating himself. “An embarrassment to _him_.”

“And he sent you to the Boiling Rock?” Hakoda’s voice turned loud with indignation, his shoulders tensing and large arms bunching beneath the thin prison uniform he still wore. “You were merely a child!”

“I was old enough to know better,” he said gruffly, perturbed by the outburst. Careful not to mention his banishment, he admitted, “I didn’t end up at the Boiling Rock for that. I was sent to the Earth Kingdom for speaking out of turn.” There was still confusion on the man’s face, his eyes nearly pleading, and Zuko realized Hakoda was probably as desperate for answers as he was. Exhaling slowly, willing the unease to ebb, he admitted, “While I was there I fell in with a group of rebels who targeted Fire Nation military shipments. The cause didn’t mean much to me but they gave me food and shelter, so I played along.” He looked at the ground as he said it, thinking of Jet’s crooked smile, the way he’d moved as they’d sparred, how careful he became when dealing with the younger boys. “We... _I_ made a mistake, somewhere. It wasn’t long before I was caught.”

“Spirits,” Hakoda murmured as he shook his head, disgust lacing his words. “How old were you?”

Zuko considered it, fiddling with the fraying hem of his shirt. “Around fourteen when I was arrested, I think.”

The man cursed under his breath. Zuko shifted uncomfortably, lifting his hand to let the string drift into the fire, watching it alight and burn into nothingness. After a long moment, Hakoda said softly, “You never should have gone through that. You didn’t deserve it.”

He shrugged, brushing hair from his eyes. “Maybe I did.”

Hakoda’s eyes widen a fraction. “What?”

“Maybe I deserve it all,” he repeated, gaze on the dying embers of the fire. “I’ve _killed_ people, done horrible things just to save myself, I’ve been...so, so incredibly selfish.” He’d made so many mistakes over the years, made choices that cost people their lives, their freedom, their futures. It was some sort of punishment from the spirits, this ache in his chest, retribution for the crimes of his ancestors. For being such a coward, for carrying the blood of Sozin.

Hakoda was quiet for so long Zuko had to fight the urge to get up and leave. _This is it,_ he thought as the water tribesman tried to think of something to say. Hakoda had seen him when they’d fled the prison, seen the way he’d burned through the guards, so fucking close to freedom that all caution had flown from his mind. Inhaling raggedly, Zuko tried to calm his nerves, telling himself he could take whatever judgment the water tribesman passed on him, that it wouldn’t mean anything because he didn’t care. He _didn’t_.

When he finally spoke, Hakoda said carefully, “You and I have not been spared some of the tragedies of this life. I’m not so much a hypocrite as to look down upon you for your actions, which I won’t ask you to relive unless you wish to but...I think it’s easy to believe the paths we follow are ones we set ourselves upon when so often it is the choices of other people that place us there. We want to blame someone, something, for these horrible things, for the horrible choices we make in return. The Fire Lord, for continuing to wage this war of his bloodline, your own father for sending you away, perhaps.” Zuko snorted but quickly sobered when he saw the look on Hakoda’s face. “I think it might be a bit of both. We certainly have agency, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t have to leave my family in the South and yet I did. Just…” he sighed, long and aggrieved. “Our lives are determined by so much more than simply our own decisions, as much as we regret them. Unfortunately, our choices and our actions cannot be taken back. The least you can do is learn from the past and try not to let it haunt you.”

“How can I not?” Zuko whispered, thinking of Ursa, of the village in flames he had abandoned, of the lives he’d taken, of the people he had...not enjoyed killing but certainly didn’t lose any sleep over. “I see them all, every time I close my eyes, every time I bend. I can’t escape it.”

Hakoda fixed him with a somber look, his voice nearly lost to the night breeze that whistled through the canyon. “You might not ever.” 

Zuko suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for such blatant honesty, as much as it felt like a screw twisting his insides. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so open with someone, nor when someone had been so open with him in return. It made guilt pierce through him like a lance—Hakoda didn’t deserve to be lied to, to believe he was helping some random inmate he’d had the misfortune of being assigned a cell with. He was helping him _because_ he thought he was some mundane Fire Nation citizen, because he had no idea who Zuko’s family was, what sort of path they had ravaged through history, through Hakoda’s own family.

“I—” Zuko swallowed the rising lump in his throat, quickly getting to his feet. Hakoda blinked at him in surprise, head tilted slightly in confusion. “I’m going to bed,” he said abruptly, hurrying from the fireside, feeling even more that he was a coward.

〜〜〜

The following morning, Zuko woke with the dawn, even though Agni’s warmth had yet to find them so deep with the canyon’s channel. He gave Hakoda and Suki a little while longer, until the riverbed was filled with so much light Suki began to stir on her own. In no time at all they were prepared to leave—they had hardly anything to pack, no supplies weighing them down. Hakoda said nothing of the night before, moving with diligent efficiency as they began again for the day. Zuko ignored the black remains of their fire as they left, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes and hair long after they’d left the odd area behind. 

Eventually, the chasm walls leveled and they found themselves on the lip of a gorge, just enough loose earth permitting them to escape onto the surrounding plains. The gorge split the wide expanse of prairie before them like an open wound, her walls lined with strata in a myriad of colors only disturbed by encroaching brush that arose from the canyon bed. The mountains still towered behind them, looming like great beasts at their backs as they walked along the gorge’s lip. There was no end in sight, at least not to Zuko. The Skypeaks shrank the further they went, Agni rose to her peak above them before beginning her descent into the west, but the prairie just continued on, the gorge beside them growing deeper and wider by the mile.

Conversation was scarce as they continued east. The prairie grass was so tall it was at Zuko’s waist, its long dry fronds rippling like the surface of the ocean with every gust of wind. Suki eventually fell into step on his right, Hakoda a few meters ahead, their supply bag over his shoulder. Beside him, Suki plucked at the passing stalks, tearing them from the earth with ease. “My mother used to make wreaths from the fields on our island,” she recalled softly, pulling florets from a seed head. “Whatever excess was left at the end of harvest season she’d collect from all of our neighbors, sometimes spending weeks at a time on a single wreath, weaving bluestem and wild rye, even the husks of coneflowers and saddlegrass.” 

“What did she do with them?” 

“Return them to the neighbors,” she said with a fond smile, “They were nice to look at. It made her happy to share them.

Zuko smiled. “She sounds kind.”

“She was,” Suki said, letting the seeds fall from her fingers. “She was.”

He bit his lip, wondering if it was insensitive of him to ask. “Is she…”

“Passed,” she confirmed, face falling. “A few years ago now. An illness swept through our village. We lost so many good people.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, chest tightening for her. After a moment's hesitation, he murmured, “I lost my mother too.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, reaching for his hand. He let her take it, not minding the gentle squeeze as much as he once might have. “How did she…”

An image of Ursa, kneeling on steps of the Fire Sage’s temple came to mind but he quickly shoved it away. “Sickness,” he lied, closing his eyes against the sound of a panabas being drawn, the way her chains had scraped loudly across marble tile. Suki squeezed his hand again, a little firmer this time. They lapsed into silence, the comfortable warmth of the day nice enough to stave away any lingering thoughts of Ursa.

“Listen, there was something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she started and Zuko glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “Don’t be angry,” she said carefully, and he stopped abruptly, already knowing that meant nothing good. Suki bit at her lip, taking a deep breath as though steeling herself. “I sort of overheard your conversation last night and I know I shouldn’t have listened, it wasn’t my place but—”

“But nothing,” Zuko said curtly, turning on his heel and marching on, stomping through the high grass. “And you’re right, it wasn’t your place.”

“Hey!” she cried, hurrying to keep pace with him. If Hakoda heard, he made no indication, only continued on ahead as though this was a path he’d taken a dozen times before. “It was intrusive, I know that and I’m sorry, but please Zuko, you talk so little about yourself! I was all of ten feet away, what was I supposed to do? Will you _stop?”_

He did, fixing her in place with a glare, chest heaving. 

“I knew you were Fire Nation and probably high born but I never...” she cut herself off, jaw clenching. “I didn’t think it would’ve been your father who’d set you away. I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

_It wasn’t him!_ he wanted to scream. _He would rather have seen me dead than place me somewhere so out of reach._ Instead, he demanded, “Why?” fully aware he was being unreasonable but unwilling to calm down. “It’s not like it was your fault. You had nothing to do with any of it.”

“No, but it still hurts to hear what you’ve—”

“It had nothing to do with you!” he practically shouted, ignoring the stunned look on her face. “It was years ago—I can’t take any of it back, so what good does thinking about it now do anyone? Sympathy won’t find us food or water out here and it certainly won’t find us the avatar.” 

Her shock quickly morphed into anger, and something inside him welcomed it, was glad for the challenge. “So after everything we’ve been through I’m somehow not allowed to feel sorry for you? To want you to heal from what’s happened in the past?”

“I don’t want your pity,” he snapped.

“It’s not pity,” she insisted, looking as fierce as she had the day he’d chosen to stand beside her in the prison courtyard, all hard edges and defiance. “You’re so wrapped up in your own guilt that you’ve never even considered maybe you’re not the only one who feels that way!” He balked, taken aback slightly, but Suki wasn’t done; “None of us here are without blood on our hands. That doesn’t mean we have to carry that weight on our own. That _yo_ _u_ don’t have to!”

He stared at her for a moment, then whirled away with a scoff. And stopped, because Hakoda was staring at him, their supply bag at his side, his expression unreadable.

_“What?”_ Zuko demanded, palms and forearms itching.

Hakoda looked him over, silent. He shook his head with finality, gaze flicking from Zuko to Suki and back again. “I don’t believe a shouting match will solve our current predicament, do you?”

Zuko huffed in disgust and stormed past the man without a word, skin prickling as he fumed, heated with a mix of embarrassment and rage. Some small part of him knew he was being unfair but the other part, the one that wanted to lash out, to hurt as much as possible, wished desperately for the time when he had been utterly alone, only himself to rely on and watch out for, no threat of war or training the avatar hanging over him. Other people's emotions were terribly inconvenient, he thought, fingers flitting about his scar, the weight of Suki’s eyes on him still stinging. He could’ve been in the Earth Kingdom by now if it weren’t for her and Hakoda’s combined lack of self-preservation, their foolish need to do the right thing.

He didn’t know why they stuck with him, why either of them had yet to decide he was no longer worth the trouble. He’d been nothing but hotheaded and bitter long before they’d crossed the boiling lake. _You’ve been lying to them,_ some dark part of himself whispered, _they don’t know who you really are. How long do you think you’ll last after they find out?_ He could picture it, the horror on their faces when understanding struck, when they realized who and what he was to their cause.

That day of confrontation was inevitable, for it wasn’t a question of if but when, and Zuko had no idea how Hakoda or Suki might react. They deserved to know the truth but he wasn’t ready for what would most assuredly come after. Head lowered, Zuko told himself to stop being so damn sentimental. _Betrayal is inescapable,_ he reminded himself, glaring across the grassland as though it was somehow responsible for his anger. When the day came, he would make it easy for them.

〜〜〜

They slept beside the gorge that night, the mountains shrunk to nothing behind them around the time Agni fell below the horizon. The vast chasm was steeped in black and beneath the dark blanket of night, Zuko could almost deceive himself into believing it was bottomless. He didn’t offer to make the fire—Hakoda muttered something Zuko couldn’t make out and his ears burned slightly but he still didn’t move to help.

Suki tried only once to speak to him, making some comment about how badly she missed a real bed, but Zuko didn’t bother to acknowledge it.

Her expression shuttered, gaze turning hard as she said sharply, “I already apologized. Whether you forgive me or not is up to you.”

There was no conversation that night, no lengthy discussion beside the fire. An uneasy silence fell over them, a suffocating net of Zuko’s own making that he was heavily aware of. It was irrational and childish, he knew, to cling to the anger, but it was a comfort almost, a reminder of a time when he’d had no one else’s expectations on his shoulders but his own.

He stared up into the stars long after the others fell asleep, hands clasped behind his head, feeling even more foolish. His eyes finally drifted shut around the time the moon hung at her highest point in the sky, the grassy plains awash with pale silvery light. In his dreams, Jet stood before him, the hooked ends of his dual swords pulling at his flesh. _If I ever see you again, I can’t promise I won’t kill you._ Ursa on the steps of the Fire Sage’s Temple, her hair shorn close to her head, the palace executioner looming behind her as she screamed, _Zuko, help me!_

He tried to get up, to run to her, but a hand on his shoulder kept him in place and when he looked up, Ozai glared down at him, the golden eyes he’d inherited dark with hatred. Zuko blinked and it was Iroh, his hand sliding away, the very same eyes no longer warm or kind, unable to find the son he’d wished to see in him. _Wait, I’ll do better!_ Zuko cried, reaching for him. _Please, don’t send me away! Uncle!_

But Iroh was gone and a voice on his left called, _A bit hypocritical of you, Zuzu, don’t you think?_

He whirled, finding Azula before him, older than he’d seen her last. She tsked at him, close enough she could reach out and brush her fingers over his scar. He didn’t move away, only stared at her, trying to find some semblance of the sister he remembered. Her eyes went wide as they regarded each other, something akin to hatred flashing across her face and suddenly she was digging her nails into him, just below his sightless eyes. _You left, too._

He awoke with a start, hands on his shoulders shaking him awake. Lashing out blindly, his palms made contact with something warm and solid as he fought.

_“Hey!”_

Breathing raggedly, he blinked the last echoes of sleep from his eyes, the dream fading. Suki glared at him from a few feet away, half sprawled in the grass. The horizon was brightening, betraying the morning hours. She shoved herself up, glaring at him. “You were having another nightmare. Thought I’d wake you before they land.”

“What? Who—”

His words were swallowed by a loud, inhuman roar and he was on his feet in an instant. Beside the still-burning fire, Hakoda waved his arms, back arched as he strained to look at something high in the sky.

Squinting, Zuko’s mouth dropped at the sight of a large white beast slowly descending from the lilac dawn, a small bald child sitting atop its neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What we’re not gonna do is mention that self-imposed deadline ever again :))
> 
> Anyways, this chapter doesn’t have too much going on plot-wise but it was kind of necessary to set things up for later. Hope you’re all doing well!


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